


Ginger Locks

by Elphen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale has a thing for Crowley's hair, Body Exploration, Body Worship, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, I suppose, Inexperienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), Loving Aziraphale, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Sexual Inexperience, Smuff, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Softness, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Supportive Crowley (Good Omens), Sweet Sex, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Weight Issues, aziraphale is an idiot, genitalia discussion, lack of genitalia, loving crowley (good omens), self-deprecation, slightly overwhelmed Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: In a cottage in the South Downs, Crowley and Aziraphale are enjoying their retirement. But though they are now partners in a romantic sense as well, the angel finds that he has an itch. An itch that he's been ignoring for a long time but which has reared its head again.Now that he's finally allowed to touch those lovely locks, of course Crowley has short hair and Aziraphale can't help his yearning for more. He can't tell Crowley, though, because what business has he to dictate how his beloved demon should look?





	1. The problem

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I'm not quite sure where this came from but I found that I have a bit of a thing for red hair and well...that somehow became this. It's a silly thing, I know but hopefully it'll be cute and worth reading :)  
I have to say, I think this is likely leaning far more towards the show than the book (especially in terms of Aziraphale) but is probably still a mix. Just so you're warned.   
I'm still nervous about getting them right -shakes head-.

It wasn’t something he’d have ever considered that he would care about, to be honest. Well, yes, of course, he would _care_, but he had always thought that that would be purely was because of who it belonged to, not the thing itself. Even then, he would never have thought he’d pay it much if any mind beyond being a part of his love, perhaps excluding how it added to him, visually.

He certainly didn’t put much stock in his own. It was there, it was part of the way that humans expected other humans to look, generally speaking, and he was happy enough to leave it at that.

Then again, he’d always kept it the exact same, hadn’t he? Throughout the millennia, no matter what the current trend dictated, that aspect had always stayed exactly the same. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t paid attention to trends in other areas but in this particular one, he had never seen any reason to.

Crowley, on the other hand, had kept up with the times in both ways. Of course, it did help that he could and would just miracle it into existence – did it still count as a miracle when it was a demon doing it rather than an angel? But of course, just because it wasn’t nice didn’t mean that it wasn’t miraculous, did it?

The point was that when it came to hair, Aziraphale had sported the same hairstyle and length of hair since he could recall, which was quite a lot longer than time immemorial. Which was established as 1189 AD, in any case, hardly long enough ago to bother counting.

He had just never seen the point in changing it. It was short, it was a rather whitish blond and it reminded him a whole lot of the downs of his wings. Beyond that, he didn’t pay it much heed.

A barber or two throughout the centuries had tried to suggest that he grow it out or, once, had attempted to put him in a wig. He’d most profusely declined, with a rather pointed smile, and thankfully, the man had gotten the point without any more…prompting.

But why would he grow it? There seemed very little point to do so.

Crowley’s had, in contrast, been a variety of styles and lengths over the years and that was only counting the times when they’d met. There were undoubtedly quite a vast number of other styles he’d had over the years to work with the times that the angel hadn’t been privy to. Always when he had seen it, it had been the must luscious warm ginger, though, and always had it been quite the sight to see.

And there it was. The issue at hand.

Aziraphale would have thought, would have been adamant had anyone asked, that his interest in the fiery, aha, locks were purely due to the fact that they belonged to Crowley, his significant other in every possible sense of the term and more.

After all, it wasn’t as though he had ever paid much attention to anybody else’s hair over the years, not even his own. So, it would follow that what caught his attention was the demon himself, not the hair, which had just served to heighten the appeal of Crowley, both physically and as a person.

And it was Crowley who caught his attention, who interested him and made his heart skip or do a jig in his chest – and how unfair was it that his heart knew dances he didn’t? It was him as a person and the mosaic whole he presented, not the constituent parts.

That was what he loved, _who_ he loved, and he loved the constituent parts because of the whole they were part of.

And yet…

Yet he felt himself being drawn towards that thick, soft hair. Not merely to look at it, though he’d found his attention drawn to it often enough over the years, but to touch.

Even now, after the world failed to end and everything was different…when he was allowed to touch, could in fact touch as much he wanted, barring Crowley getting fed up – which he had thankfully yet to – he could still feel that irrational itch in his fingers that had plagued him for centuries, if not outright millennia.

Not only was it as thick as it appeared, it was far softer than one would have ever guessed. There was even some wave to it, about enough so that it curled around his fingers when he slid his hand into it.

Tugging at it was nice, too, with the added benefit that if he did it just right, he would have a demon melted against him, purr-hissing in contentment. That reaction could also be achieved by massaging his scalp, though, or any other part, really, but the scalp-massage and the tugging was possible one-handed while he turned the pages of his book with the fingers of his other.

The book itself would be either in his lap or resting on the demon’s chest as he lay sprawled across the sofa and, consequently, Aziraphale’s lower body.

That he was allowed to touch wasn’t the issue. Well, it was but it wasn’t. It was absolutely wonderful that he could touch it, not to mention the rest of his demon, and that Crowley was willing to touch him in turn. Revelled in it, in fact.

No, the issue was that even with all that they had, now, together and safe, was that he still wanted something. That something was tied to Crowley’s hair and it was –

It was ridiculous, was what it was. Preposterous, even, because why couldn’t he be content with what he had? Why must he want more? Why did his fingers have to itch for…

For more hair to touch.

Which was not just preposterous, it was entirely unfair of him. Crowley should be able to choose how he wore his hair on his own. As much on his own as fashion would allow, of course, but the point remained. It shouldn’t be something that Aziraphale had any say over.

But the itch wouldn’t leave. No matter what he did, including ignoring it, running his hands through his own hair and finding a doll with lovely long, dark hair, and feeling rather unsettled when he did it, so he stopped almost immediately, it didn’t go away.

As a matter of fact, the more time that passed, the worse it got, it seemed.

Perhaps that was due to how much time they now spent together, even compared to earlier. After all, living together in a cottage was something other than meeting up, however regular the meetings.

The setting made a difference, too, obviously; that they spent quiet hours tucked up on a sofa or in a bed rather than sitting across or beside one another somewhere in public. Of course, they’d had the option of the bookshop, too, where there were opportunities to sit as well but it still wasn’t the same, not even after the Averted Apocalypse had changed so much between them, mostly because it had given them the push they’d both apparently needed to become romantic partners as well as friends.

But it really was different in the cottage, even compared to the bookshop. These weren’t stolen moments; they were allowed to last if that was what they wanted them to. There was no one there that could interrupt them. Not anymore, thank G – goodness.

Given that, it shouldn’t be too surprising that the itch, the _urge _to touch the hair had grown. Nor really the wish to have more of it to touch.

You’re not reading.” It was a statement rather than a question and it brought the angel quite neatly out of his contemplation.

He looked down at the demon sprawled across him, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“I am,” he protested. He hadn’t been but that was hardly the point and he certainly wasn’t going to admit to it.

“You’re not. I haven’t heard or felt a page turn in ages.”

“It’s merely a thorough reading.” Never mind the fact that he was a relatively fast reader and understood what he read immediately. “I thought you were asleep.”

Crowley didn’t make a reply to that. Instead, he said, “Alright, then. What are you reading about that’s got you so engrossed?”

“How prophecies were made in the East and how they differ from each other. It’s really quite the fascinating read, you should – “

“No thanks, I think I’ll pass,” Crowley replied. He wiggled and sat himself up, in such a way that he was still sprawled, even if he’d switched from Aziraphale’s lap to his shoulder and side. Not that the blond minded, of course, but still.

The ginger raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read that one before. I saw you with that one back in…was it the 80s? 1980s, I think. You’d just gotten it from someone you could never get to part with books, and you told me you’d read it through in…very short time, anyway.”

Aziraphale felt a little warm at the fact that Crowley had retained that rather useless titbit about him. “And your point is?”

“That I could ask you about it or even to quote a passage from it and you’d be able to answer – or fib well enough that I couldn’t tell.”

“So?”

“_So_, that is not in any way conclusive as to whether you were actually reading. Which you weren’t.”

“I was.”

He wasn’t going to back down now and admit that he wasn’t, was he? Especially not considering what he had actually been thinking about. That would just be embarrassing – to say the least.

Crowley looked at him for a long moment, face inscrutable, even without the sunglasses. Then he shrugged and grinned slightly.

“Suit yourself.”

He stood up with a grace that was quite unfair, however much it made sense. Then he stretched and then turned around to face the other. “I’m feeling like some lunch. Can I tempt you?”

Aziraphale smiled broadly in turn. “Always, my dear,” he replied. He laid aside the book and took the hand that was held out to him. Not that he needed help getting up, but the gesture was appreciated.

“Where do you want to go? They opened up a new tearoom down in the village, we could go there. Or there’s the café you liked last time, of course, but there’s always the old Italian – “

“How about the tearoom? We could walk there.”

Crowley magicked his glasses out from nowhere and put them on as he pursed his lips in what might’ve been a grimace and might’ve been an odd grin.

“You’re just trying to avoid a ride in the car.”

After just denying that he hadn’t been reading, to say that he wasn’t avoiding the car would sound childish.

“Well…you do go awfully fast, Crowley.”

“Too fast?” the demon quipped but there was a slight edge to it. An edge of grooviness and psychedelia.

Aziraphale hesitated then swallowed. He remembered that conversation, too. Far too well, in fact, and he could feel the guilt niggling at him even now.

To be honest, he couldn’t say for sure he would have said anything different if he had the chance to do it over again, because that was how he’d honestly felt at the time. However, he hadn’t ever expected the effect it ended up having on the demon, something which Crowley had only confessed to recently, in a quiet, unguarded moment late one evening. Considering that, he didn’t…he honestly didn’t know what he’d do.

What he could do was say the right thing now or at least try to.

He shifted his grip on the hand he hadn’t yet let go of, pulling the other close to him.

“No, not too fast at all,” he said quietly, apology evident in his voice if not directly in his words. “Just the right speed, in fact. Perfect.”

He leaned closer and planted a kiss on the demon’s cheek, chaste but lingering. Despite that, Crowley still coloured just a slight bit.

“Lunch, then?” he asked, trying for light and nonchalant.

Aziraphale smiled and gave the cheek a peck. “After you, my dear.”

* * *

It really wasn’t fair. The reality that when he was finally allowed to touch, freed from restraints from both outside and inside, then Crowley was sporting the least amount of hair Aziraphale could remember him having, perhaps apart from what had been under the hat back in the mid-Victorian era – and he hadn’t actually seen any hair when he’d been in full armour come to think of it, but the point remained.

Well, in the grand scheme of things, it was hardly a footnote in the annals of unfairness but even so. Why couldn’t he have kept the hair he’d had before? While they’d been looking after Warlock Dowling, for instance.

Oh, that had been some pretty hair. Not quite as long and wild in its beauty as what he’d had right up until the crucifixion of Jesus but what it lacked in that regard, it made up for in carefully controlled style and flair.

Not that it hadn’t been lovely outside of that. Apart from what he’d done to it – honestly, that little gathering at the back?

Granted, it hadn’t looked as silly as the, good grief, the style he’d sported when he’d come to rescue Aziraphale back in France. Then again, the fashion of the time was quite…lavish, to put it kindly. It would stand to reason that that sort of hairstyle would be _in vogue_, to use the vernacular.

But that was still more hair than now and however ridiculous and petty it was, and it really was both, Aziraphale couldn’t help but wish he’d had just the smallest opportunity to run his hands through it while it was more than a few inches at most.

At the same time, he also knew that he couldn’t tell Crowley. If he did, wasn’t that tantamount to saying that he wasn’t good enough as he was? That Aziraphale wanted him to look a specific way for his benefit and his alone?

No, he wasn’t going to put his dearest through that. However often he found the image of those flowing lock from the first time they’d met, at times interspersed with the flowing coverings from Golgotha or the wild, slightly tangled version at the Ark-completion, flashing through his mind, sometimes at inopportune moments. No matter how much he found his fingers itching, longing for more hair, it didn’t matter.

Crowley was perfect for Aziraphale the way he was, in whatever way he chose to present himself, and that was that. End of discussion.

* * *

It was growing worse. Every day he felt the itch now, mainly when he was alone, and he had nothing in particular to do. Sometimes, though, sometimes it happened even as he was carding his hand, or hands, through the lovely locks that had survived to this latest incarnation of fashion.

What was it that Oscar had called it? Oh, bother, he couldn’t recall.

But it was okay. It would be okay, at least. He just…he just needed something do with his hands when he was otherwise idle. That was all. Something that would keep them occupied and perhaps even fool his hands into thinking they were touching something like hair.

* * *

“Since when did you take up lacemaking?”

“It isn’t lacemaking,” Aziraphale corrected, pushing his glasses back up his nose with the knuckle of his index finger but otherwise not looking up from his pattern. “It’s knitting.”

He had considered getting a cat or a dog, but not only would that be a responsibility they didn’t need, neither would be available whenever he needed to quell the urge.

Knitting on the other hand would fit that criteria, especially when he got some soft mohair silk and alpaca silk yarn to work with and held the yarn in his hand as he worked. It wasn’t quite the same, but it could pass for it to some degree, at least, or so it seemed at the moment. He wasn’t certain of its long-term viability, though.

“It’s got holes in it!”

The angel sighed and stopped. He was only at a simple garter stitch, but he was having some trouble.

“Must you point out my lack of skill so very bluntly?” he asked, sounding a little defeated.

It was rather uneven and…see-through, he had to admit. More than it should be. But it was doing its job, bringing the inner itch down to almost non-existence, and that really was the main thing. Even so, there really was no need, was there?

Crowley opened his mouth, stopped, frowned then blew out a breath.

He then sat himself down beside the angel. Given that Aziraphale was sitting in the chair at his desk – almost all of the furniture from both the bookshop and Crowley’s flat had been brought to the cottage and if they might’ve had to…expand on the inside a bit for it to fit, so what? – which had no seats immediately beside it, it should’ve been impossible. But then, this was the snake demon, wasn’t it?

Instead of pulling a chair over or even seating himself on the desk, he perched himself on the arm of the chair, as easily as if it had been a lounge seat. That he was leaning against the softer body was quite immaterial.

However, there was one point where it did matter; he’d pushed his face into the platinum-white, feathery curls and gently but clearly inhaled, as though there was something there that needed to be smelled and yet savoured at the same time.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbled into said hair.

Aziraphale, slightly puzzled by the inhalation into _his _hair, of all things, hummed an acceptance after a moment. In return, he got an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He put the knitting aside for the moment. After all, there was no need for something to distract himself with when he had the real thing close and willing, was there?

Even so, he could feel just the faintest hint of an urge still tingling in his fingers.

He ignored it.


	2. The questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale strengthens his resolve to find a way to deal. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Crowley is nothing if not aware of his angel and tries to get to the bottom of the matter with his beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...am not going to be able to have this done in three chapters after all, it's spinning rather out of intention. Go figure. So I'll just leave it blank until I know for certain the next chapter will be the last.  
Thank you for your kind feedback, you are really sweet, all of you.

It wasn’t as though he _only_ wanted something new, or more, to touch. Part of it was that, yes, he could admit that, but it was far from all of it.

Some of it was also that…well, you could only do so much with short hair, couldn’t you? Case in point being his own hair, where flattening it or slicking it back was pretty much the options, at least as far as he knew. Crowley did manage to get his hair into something more…styled, for lack of a better term, but the range of options available to longer hair was just…

_Admit it, _said an inner voice_ You want to braid it._

Well, yes. He did. Ever since he’d seen the braids that Crowley had sported back at the Ark, he had imagined being the one allowed to make those. Threading his fingers through the hair as he worked his way down, tugging it gently as he went to make sure the tension was right and it wouldn’t unravel after hardly any time…not to mention getting to unravel it, too.

He would be sitting behind Crowley and the ginger in turn would be moved close enough to make reaching easy and touching unavoidable. Not with anything else in mind, just…allowing Aziraphale to enjoy himself.

Oh, good grief. He genuinely had it bad, didn’t he?

Okay, there were ways to deal with this. He could overcome it. All he needed to do was to find a way that was more effective, both in terms of his body and, it seemed, his mind as well.

But…wasn’t there another way? Couldn’t he simply bite the bullet, as it were, and ask Crowley?

He scoffed at himself the moment he had the thought. Ask him? And how did he think that would go over? What would he even say?

‘Excuse me, my dear, but I have a small favour to ask. Could you possibly grow your hair out? Preferably to the length it had when we first met. Your current hair is ever so lovely, I wouldn’t ever say otherwise. I just…I find myself unable to repress the yearning for your longer locks and it’s getting to the point that my fingers itch and tingle.’

Oh, yes, that would just go down a treat, wouldn’t it? More like the proverbial balloon.

He could almost see the expression on Crowley’s face if he mentioned it and – no.

There would be no need, in any case, because he was going to find a way to control it. To vanquish it. Thwart it, even.

Yes. He would. Most definitely.

Crowley came in from the garden at that point, slightly sweaty and covered with dirt. He seemed happy, though, even if he always changed into a slight scowl if you asked whether his plants were doing well. Then he’d make some comment about how they had better, with all the attention they got.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked when he spotted the angel lounging on the broad and luxurious pillowed window bench that they had at the kitchen window.

“Matter with me? What do you mean, ‘matter with me’?” Aziraphale asked, a tad guiltily, hoping that what he’d been thinking about didn’t show in his face.

“You looked rather determined. Found out where there’s an antiques dealer with some good snuff boxes they don’t know the value of, have you?” the demon asked as he went over to the sink to wash up, depositing the sunglasses somewhere on a countertop as he went.

He kept them on while outside so as not to upset the neighbours. The moment he was inside and safe, however, off they came now, something which always filled the angel with warm joy.

Technically speaking, the ginger could just miracle the dirt off but when Aziraphale had suggested it once, he’d not even dignified it with an answer. The blond supposed that everyone had their little idiosyncrasies and if that was something Crowley enjoyed doing that way, who was Aziraphale to say otherwise.

“What? Oh. No, not…” Oh, bother, why hadn’t he thought of a plausible reason before and why couldn’t he think of one now? “Just…decided to cut back a bit.”

“Cut back? What on?” Crowley asked. He turned his head, a few drops of water slipping off his chin.

“Well…food.” It was a plausible enough thing to say and technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Now the ginger was frowning. “What do you need to cut back on food for? The gloriole hasn’t been around, has he?”

It took Aziraphale a moment to work out. “No! No, not at all. No.” He shook his head for emphasis.

“Right.” Crowley walked over and plopped himself down on the bench next to Aziraphale. Well, not quite _next _to. Against and between was more accurate. There was not a trace of dirt or water to be seen.

“What the heaven’s this about all of a sudden, then?”

“Nothing. I just…thought it might be time to…well, lose a bit of weight.”

Oh, drat, now look what he’d done! He’d wanted to get himself out of one very awkward, embarrassing and potentially damaging situation about the, whatever the hair thing was, and he’d ended up in another one. Which might not be quite as damaging, as at least he wouldn’t be revealing untoward desires on the unsuspecting demon, but certainly promised to be as, if not more, awkward and embarrassing.

Still frowning, Crowley moved a bit closer. He lifted a hand and placed it, carefully, on the curve of Aziraphale’s stomach, and it took the angel quite a bit of effort not to try to suck it in.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley began. “Angel, there’s no…I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do but I have never ever thought you ought to lose weight.”

“But I don’t…don’t you think I’m soft?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank, just a little. “There. You see, I should – “

“Let me finish, would you?”

The blond swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, I think you’re soft. _Perfectly_ so.” The hand on his stomach pressed just a fraction as it glided over it. “I _like _you soft. There’s nothing wrong with being soft, angel, and I wouldn’t want to change a thing about you.”

It was meant to make him feel better and in truth, it did so. Knowing, in words spoken out loud and clear rather than assumed, interpreted, or implied, that Crowley not merely didn’t mind but actively liked his shape and his softness – which, to be honest, he’d had to some degree since, well, his creation – that did quite a bit to dispel his concern.

Not that he should need somebody else’s opinion to feel better about himself, of course, but it did still make his heart a little lighter. It did matter to him what his dearest thought of him and that was hardly something to be ashamed about, was it?

However, what the reassurance also did was bring his original dilemma into a rather sharper relief; if Crowley could be happy with the way Aziraphale looked, including the softness, then how could Aziraphale even think about changing his demon? It wasn’t just preposterous, it was demeaning, to Crowley, that was.

He felt heat rise in his cheeks and hoped that it would be seen as a case of being touched at the inherent compliment. Or, if it was seen as embarrassment, it would be because of having to admit that he was soft.

“Thank you, my dear,” he managed to get out. He even managed a smile. “That’s incredibly kind of you.”

He couldn’t keep looking at Crowley, though. Not if he wanted to keep at least a modicum of his composure, quite apart from not letting on about the other thing.

So, he shifted his gaze a little down and then out of the window, the garden a welcome target for his gaze.

“All things bright and beautiful,” he muttered, to himself, sweeping over all the improvements his dear had made to the garden already. It did indeed look beautiful already, whatever Crowley claimed about its state.

Improvements; not changes.

He could feel the yellow gaze on the side of his face, metaphorically burning into his skin, and did his best to ignore it, which wasn’t easy, so he closed his eyes, hoping that would help.

That only lasted for a few but long moments until a hand was placed under his chin, a thumb on his chin, both used to guide his head back towards the demon. He didn’t fight it though he wanted to.

“Something else’s the matter,” Crowley said, without any preamble. Then again, Aziraphale supposed he didn’t really need one.

That didn’t mean he was going to admit to it. How could he? Especially considering how Crowley had just handled…the other thing.

He was happy with what they had, how they were. With how his snake looked. He didn’t need changes.

“Nothing’s the matter,” he said, trying to deflect. He gave a smile, but he could feel it was wobbly rather than strong, and he still didn’t make eye contact. “Why would anything be the matter?”

“Apart from the fact that you voiced one just before, your cheeks are red and you’re refusing to look at me? I’m not that daft, Aziraphale.”

The angel bit his lip. Oh, why couldn’t he be unaffected so Crowley wouldn’t suspect anything? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been able to manage it before, with others. Quite easily, in fact, so why was it so impossible for him to do it when Crowley was involved? Or at least close to impossible.

How could he get out of this? He needed to find a way, but he couldn’t think of anything that would work. Crowley could be incredibly stubborn when the mood took him not to mention determined when on a task. Just look at the work he’d had to do to get the M25…well, best not think about that, really, all things considered.

“It’s stupid,” he ended up saying. Mumbling, really, but since they were so close, the demon easily picked up on it.

“Possibly, but I’d like to hear it before I make any judgment. So, come on. Tell me.”

It could’ve sounded demanding. Might have sounded like he was making into a joke, to make it easier or lighten the mood or whatever. But it didn’t. It was quiet and imploring.

Aziraphale shook his head lightly. He couldn’t. What wouldn’t Crowley think of him? Something so insignificant, so stupid. So _superficial._

He was supposed to be _better _than that.

Something touched his cheek. He started before he realised it was the tip of Crowley’s nose, nudging at it.

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, a small laugh in his voice as well as admonishment, despite his efforts.

“What? If you’re going to be silly, I figured I might as well.”

“I’m not…not being silly.” Never mind the fact that he called it stupid a few moments before.

“You are. Something’s bothering you, it clearly has been for a while now and yet you refuse to tell me.”

Wait, what? Did that mean – he’d _noticed_?

It didn’t have to mean he’d noticed how long exactly, as ‘a while’ was a relatively vague concept. Did how long really matter, though? The main point was that he’d noticed it was bothering the angel and that it had been something niggling at him for longer than just now.

Which meant that he’d kept silent about up until now but also, since he’d decided to mention it at this point, that he was rather unlikely to let it go easily. Nor was it feasible that he’d accept a deflection or an attempt to explain it away, even.

Even so, he had to try. The alternative was…not an alternative.

Oh, why couldn’t he just have repressed it or made it go away entirely? Why did he have to have such…desires, one which was entirely shallow, too?

But how could he phrase it? He couldn’t lie…well, he could, technically speaking, and he found that he wanted to, if only to but he had no lie ready to use and if he had to fumble his way through coming up with one, even just a small fumble, Crowley would spot it. He’d gotten very good at that lately, quite apart from the fact that Aziraphale had never been quite as good at lying to the demon as he’d been with anyone else. Especially not as of it.

During his silence, his worried train of thought, Crowley had continued to look at him, patiently, as though he had all the time in the world to wait for an answer. Which, in truth, he did, except that Aziraphale was likely to expire, not just discorporate, if this went on for much longer.

“You…I thought that…I can’t say,” he ended up saying at last, in shamed defeat. Good grief, he really was pathetic, wasn’t he?

“You can.”

Again, instead of sounding demanding or even glib as it might’ve easily done, had it been someone other than Crowley, it sounded entreating instead, as a reassurance that he was believed in and that it would be okay.

Aziraphale highly doubted that but the sentiment went straight to his heart. In fact, that very sentiment managed to provide him with some courage despite his doubts and worries.

Crowley was being incredibly supportive of him right now. Not that he wasn’t otherwise because he always was, even when he didn’t approve or thought the angel silly. But right now, that support was out on the surface, trying to guide him through something he was struggling with.

With words, even.

It would be wrong and superficial of him to mention what he’d been wanting and now struggled with. At the same time, it would also be wrong to continue to deflect Crowley when he was doing his best.

If he could, surely Aziraphale could, too?

“I...” he began but stopped. “Crowley, promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me.”

“I need to know what that something is first, angel.”

“Promise me that you won’t think worse of me.”

Oh, lord, that wasn’t how he had meant to phrase it at all. Why hadn’t he just called it a stray thought or talked about how much he loved Crowley’s hair in general and perhaps he could get away with blurting the issue out, sandwiched and buried among the rest? And why hadn’t he had that thought before he’d started speaking? But he could hardly take back what he’d said now, could he?

He opened his mouth to try and smooth it over somehow, but he was interrupted.

“What on earth would I think worse of you for?” Crowley asked, sounding downright mystified, which perhaps wasn’t surprising, but the soft smile on his lips perhaps was. “What could you possibly have done? Vaporised the neighbour’s dog?”

“I can’t...oh, good grief.” The angel closed his eyes. Squeezed them shut, really. He really needed to smooth this over somehow. Make it better.

_No, don’t smooth it over,_ said a voice in his mind. _Get it over with. He’s there, he’s listening, he’ll be supportive._

But Aziraphale would tell him he wasn’t enough as he was, which wasn’t true.

_Then tell him that._

Why would he believe him? If the blond confessed that he wanted him changed, then how could any other words ever hope to soften –

“Oi, Aziraphale.” Another bump of a crooked nose against his cheek. It wasn’t until he felt the brief, sweet press of lips against the cheek, though, that he opened his eyes.

“There.” A flash of a smile before concern nudged it aside. “It’s okay. You can tell me. What’s got you so scared, angel?”

He swallowed.

“I...don’t think you’re not enough.”

Crowley blinked, nonplussed and slightly thrown. “Right. O-kay. Thank you. I didn’t think you thought so but – “

“I don’t. I honestly don’t.” He needed to be sure that got across.

“Why mention it, then?” The tone was still terribly soft. Gentle.

His eyes flickered down and away again, in lieu of closing them.

“Because I can’t get the thought of you with long hair out of my mind, no matter how hard I try, and I have _tried. _I have tried almost everything, but it doesn’t help, and my fingers itch worse and worse for a chance to run through the hair you had when I met you.”

The words came out in a rush that was barely intelligible, unstoppable once he’d started, despite his concerted effort to stop, his hands wringing together. “And I know that’s horrible of me to say or even think, which is why I wanted you to know that it’s not because – because you _are _and I couldn’t wish for more in all of this, I really could not, you have been perfect in every way. Yet I can’t seem to stop that thought and you shouldn’t have to deal with that, in any way, but I would hope that perhaps now that you know you can ignore that I have said anything and pretend that – “

“Angel, would you _stop?!” _The sharpness of the words not just managed to cut through and make him snap his jaw shut, it also made a contrast to the still gentle, if minutely tightened, grip the demon had on his chin.

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded.

“I am terribly sorry,” he mumbled, guiltily and with an expectation of the ginger at the very least being annoyed with him, not to mention disappointed and hurt.

The hand prevented him from turning his head away, though gently so; just so that Crowley could keep his eyes on the other’s face. “No, none of that. I don’t think I caught half of what you said but even if I did, you shouldn’t be apologising.”

“I should!” Aziraphale protested. “I should apologise for – “

“Like Heaven you should!” Crowley said and it was a snap.

But the angel held fast. Crowley didn’t know what he was saying; he hadn’t heard what Aziraphale had been saying, that was the explanation for why he wasn’t reacting.

“Yes, I should, because I have no business yearning for something like that, thereby saying you’re not perfect as you are!” he cried, and it was almost a wail. Not quite but it was close enough. He stared at the other with wide eyes, surprised that he’d said it, _repeated _it, and was waiting for the inevitable reaction, hoping that it wouldn’t be too bad.

That was, Crowley was never harsh or mean to him, not actually and especially not now, but the hurt in those golden eyes would undoubtedly be worse.

The demon blinked, his eyes widening. Then, of all things, instead of what he’d been expecting, the faintest hint of colour started to rise in those slim cheeks, spreading over good cheekbones. It could’ve been a trick of the light if Aziraphale wasn’t familiar enough with that face to know it in all angles and almost all lights and never had he seen light on it that could be mistaken as a hint of a, a _blush._

Were demons capable of blushing? That wasn’t really relevant, though, was it? Neither should they be capable of imagination or of loving and yet his dearest Crowley seemed to have no issue with it.

But why was he blushing? What had prompted him to blush?

“C-Crowley?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

“Perfect?” It was more a mouthing of the word than actually anything spoken, the eyes staying wide and unblinking.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said and though his fears and his shame were still burning tiger-bright, they were momentarily pushed to the background as he couldn’t help the small, utterly sincere smile at that, even if it was a tad wobbly. “Obviously.”

It was Crowley’s turn for his gaze to flicker, though to his credit, it was only for a moment. “I am anything but perfect.”

“You are to me, my dear.”

The angel took a breath and the fears and shame rushed back. For a moment, he wondered if he could use this to wriggle out of it, smooth things over and pretend this hadn’t happened. After all, it wouldn’t be there first time they’d come right up against something they would rather not discuss and had skirted around it. There’d been times when they had discussed it but more often than not, they tried not to.

But even if he did pull that off, the itch was unlikely to go away. What if it got worse? Would he end up demanding that Crowley change his hair? Or would he, oh goodness, would he change it himself?

No! No, he’d never –!

_Best to get it out in the open, then. Get it dealt with, one way or the other._

But look what a mess he’d already made of it!

_Still, you can’t just leave it._

He supposed not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely sure where the self-deprecation on the weight came from but I hope it's okay. Should I have tagged it? I do try with tags but I'm not good at it.


	3. The start of the solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having brought the problem to light, Crowley is quite happy to oblige his angel's wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the sweet comments and feedback on this. It's been a lovely pick-me-up to write this and I have desperately needed that.

“You are to me,” he repeated, “which is why I don’t understand this urge at all and I want nothing more than for it to cease existing within me altogether.”

He looked at his demon, hoping for at least a modicum of understanding or, failing that, a willingness to ignore it until Aziraphale could come up with some way of ridding himself of it.

What he got wasn’t what he expected. Not even close.

The yellow eyes had shot back up to look directly at him when he’d first said, ‘you are to me’. Now, they had widened but more importantly, there was a small light starting to grow in them.

“Angel…” he breathed. Then a smile began to grow on his lips, spreading until it revealed just a hint of teeth.

Why? What was there to smile about? Surely, he wasn’t going to mock him for it? No, that wouldn’t fit…Crowley would never do that to him. Well, yes, he teased him – ‘Oh, lord, heal this bike’ came to mind – but never outright mockery. But why else would he smile at a time like this?

Then he noticed something else, something that seemed even odder than his immediate reaction. For a moment, Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether he’d seen it or not. He blinked and tried to focus and…

Crowley’s hair was very short at the back, though not exactly a buzz cut, all the way down and yet…he thought he saw what might possibly be a ginger curl, at the nape of his neck, now, peeking out as though daring him to see it. As he looked, he thought he even saw it grow just a fraction

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked back up to stare at the demon.

“Crowley?” he asked, the confusion evident in his question. This was surely mocking him…wasn’t it?

Crowley didn’t answer. Instead, his hair grew a little more, enough so that there could be no doubt about it, on all sides.

“Crowley, please, I – “Aziraphale began then stopped. He swallowed a lump in his throat, but it bobbed right back up. “Please don’t mock me.”

“Mock you?” the demon echoed, frowning in confusion and what appeared to be disconcertion. “What the Heaven would I mock you for? _How _am I supposed to be mocking you?”

Aziraphale’s gaze flickered down to the offending curl, which was a definite curl now, even though that normally, Crowley’s hair had more of a wave than an actual curl to it. Then it rose back to the yellow eyes, meaningfully.

Crowley’s expression exemplified a silent ‘ah, I see’ perfectly.

“That’s not mocking you, angel,” he said, his voice soft. “I wouldn’t mock you for something like that. Ever.” The last part was said with much more firmness, though, for emphasis.

“But why else are you doing that?” Aziraphale asked in agitated bewilderment and acute embarrassment. It didn’t make any sense otherwise.

Eyebrows shot upwards.

“You just said you liked it,” Crowley said, as though that was all the explanation that required. “I know I didn’t get all of what you rambled about earlier but that I did catch.”

“But – but – are you – you cannot be okay with that!” It was as much a question as it was an exclamation.

“Why not?” The voice was still soft, still kindly enquiring, as if he was asking why Aziraphale wouldn’t prefer to lay in bed on his back rather than on his side rather than…and it just didn’t tally.

“_Why not_? Because I have no business telling you how you should and shouldn’t be,” the angel said, almost pleading. Pleading for what, though? For Crowley to get angry? Surely not.

Perhaps it was pleading with him to not be falsely kind to him, to compromise himself in an effort to please the angel. Aziraphale would never want him to do that.

“Especially not when you can be alright with…with my appearance,” he added, feeling heat enter his cheeks.

“I’m a bit more than ‘alright’ with it, angel,” Crowley said, giving another smile, soft and warm and wonderful, as his hand drifted down the curve of the soft belly it had been resting against, coming to rest on a plush thigh, which it squeezed ever so gently.

“A lot more, as a matter of fact. As for the rest…I don’t see the problem.”

“Don’t see – how can you _not_?”

“How _can_ you see a problem?” Crowley countered, slightly more sharply but still mainly soft. “It’s not the same thing, for one – which is a big one, too.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue but Crowley stole his thunder, quite deliberately it seemed, by continuing, the smile back on his face. He moved his hand from the blond’s chin to rest against his jaw and his cheek, long fingers splaying just a little. Aziraphale leaned into the contact.

“Hair’s just hair,” the demon said, maintaining eye contact. “It’s not intrinsically tied to who I am.”

“But – “

“No, listen. Listen to me, angel, and listen carefully.” He waited and Aziraphale nodded his understanding. “Okay. Good. It’s…it’s very sweet – “and that _that_ word didn’t sound forced through his teeth was quite the indicator of how far they’d come – “and considerate of you to think of it like that. But there’s no need to. If you had a problem with something that’s inherently me, that’d be different.”

His face had an odd expression at that, but it flashed by before Aziraphale could catch and understand it.

“I’d never – “

“I know that. That’s my point. You wouldn’t and that’s the only reason I would be hurt by something like that.”

“But I did – “

“No, you didn’t. It’s not the same thing at all to wish to see your partner in something you think looks good on them. Or just because you like it. Hell, if it comes to that, I would love to see you in some different clothes.”

“You…would?” This conversation had somehow shifted tracks while going through a tunnel and he had no idea where they were headed.

Crowley almost looked affronted. “Course I would. You’d look amazing in some tighter jeans and a quality jumper. Or just a suit that isn’t a century and a half old, with a corresponding cut. I’m not saying you don’t look good in what you have but…well, you know.” A smirk was piggybacking on the smile that played on his lips. “A little fantasy of my own.”

He leaned forward and stole a kiss. Aziraphale was too stunned to reciprocate before he’d pulled back again.

“So, I get it,” Crowley said. “I just wish you’d said something.”

“But you…I…” the blond tried and then stopped.

“It’s still growing,” he said, a little dumbfounded.

Now the smirk had taken over. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“But –! “

Had his vocabulary really shrunken that much that that was all he was able to say? Surely not but nevertheless, the reality seemed to be just that. Of course, it didn’t help that Crowley seemed determined to throw him for a loop more than once.

“If that’s what you like, then I don’t see any problem growing it.”

“Crowley, you don’t have to.”

“No, I know _that_, you idiot.” The insult was significantly lessened by the warmth in those yellow eyes. “I know that perfectly well. And I’m not doing it because I feel obligated to or whatever else nonsense you’re cooking up inside your brain. I’m doing it because…well, because it’s something you would like, I’m fine with having it longer and I want to see you enjoy it, quite frankly.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say to that. Then, ever so slightly surprising to himself, he found that he started to smile. It was one of gratitude and joy.

He watched the hair continue to grow, slowly but steadily. It would probably have been easier, miracle-wise, not to mention more efficient, for Crowley to just have snapped his fingers and let it grow out to the desired length all at once.

This way, though, Aziraphale got to experience the process as well as the result and he had to admit, somewhat to his continued shame, that he was transfixed.

At first, it seemed to be only the hair at the back of his neck that grew but before long, it became clear that the hair at his sides had joined in the growing, too. The hair that would’ve been his bangs had it not been styled upwards, didn’t seem to grow, perhaps waiting for the rest to catch up with it first.

Crowley remained motionless through it, just smiling with that smirk lurking at the edges of it. That was, until the hair at his sides reached his ears and tickled them, judging by the way he flinched ever so minutely, trying instinctively to move away from it. Which of course didn’t work and so he flinched again.

Without being consciously aware of what he was doing, Aziraphale reached out with one hand to brush the hair behind the ear, first on one and then the other. It was only when he felt a light nudge against his hand that he realised he’d moved and not only that, he’d let his hand stay there.

He started to pull it back, but Crowley’s hand lifted from where it’d rested against a full thigh and grabbed the angel’s wrist, pushing the hand back where it had been, actually pushing it a little further into the strands that were still growing.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s meant for you, after all. Go on. Explore. It would hardly be much fun if you didn’t take advantage.”

“I don’t ‘take advantage’!” Aziraphale protested but the affront hardly had any heat.

He was much too overwhelmed by being able to actually feel the hair grow as he touched it and, of course, by the fact that his dearest wasn’t merely not angry with him, he was allowing him the experience he had so yearned for. He was even given the privilege of watching it unfold, which was…he didn’t even know how to express that.

Crowley seemed unaffected by the comment in any case.

“Time to try something new, then,” he said, moving further into the manicured hand. “Go on. Enjoy it.”

Well, then…who was Aziraphale to refuse?

He slid his fingers further in, rubbing gently while he did so. With a continued sense of wonder he noted, as he had the other times that he’d gotten to touch it, how thick it was and how almost incongruously soft it was. It really ought to be slightly stiff from products, given the way it was styled, but he knew that Crowley maintained that as he did everything else. He simply thought his hair should be like that and so it was.

That same thing applied now, really, didn’t it? With how he was letting his hair grow. Or perhaps that wasn’t it at all but instead –

His thoughts were derailed by a sound he most definitely hadn’t expected to hear; a soft, but audible purr, which emanated, not from his own throat as he might’ve expected, but from Crowley’s.

“That feelssss good,” he said, the slight hiss quite unexpected but the words stopped Aziraphale from pulling his hand away in worry.

“I’ve touched your hair before, though, dear,” Aziraphale pointed out, a little puzzled as well as secretly delighted. “Plenty of times.” And he had gotten a reaction out of…well, he supposed he’d always thought it was the scalp massage that had caused the reaction.

“Yess…I know.”

“Has it…has it always felt that way, then? For the hair, I mean.”

“Yess…” Crowley blinked, gaze focusing. “Yeah. Perhaps a bit stronger than…than normal, though. Don’t stop. Please.”

For a moment, Aziraphale wondered whether it really was the touching of hair or the light massage that did the trick, as was normally the case. Then he decided that it didn’t really matter all that much. It was enough that Crowley seemed to be getting enjoyment out of it, too, which managed to assuage some of his guilt. Not all by far but some.

The styled-by-expectation hair had now matched length with the bangs and consequently, they had started to grow as well, further upwards. That was, until Aziraphale shifted his hand from the side to run through that Tintin-esque quiff, destroying it with his fingers. Not that either of them seemed to mind the slightest bit or even take much notice.

Aziraphale slid his fingers through again and again, gently rubbing and circling the scalp as he did so. The purr grew in corresponding volume to the point of a rumble and gained a hiss to it that should’ve been impossible or at the very least slightly off-putting. It wasn’t. Instead, it was deliciously familiar, if stronger than before, and sent something of a frisson down the angel’s spine.

Crowley somehow managed to press himself closer to the other, despite both their positions. His hand had let go of Aziraphale’s wrist and had landed back on the plush thigh, which it was now massaging gently in turn. His eyes were half-lidded and warm, their yellow almost molten.

This was…close to and simultaneously entirely different from the reaction he normally got when he was caressing the hair.

When the angel tugged with some force, which he hadn’t intended to do, at the hair at the back of the demon’s neck, he didn’t get the boneless melting that he was, well, used to, for lack of a better term. Instead, he got something like a growling mewl while the hand at his jaw slid quickly to the back of his own neck, gripping it.

There it pulled him forward and he was being kissed. Not gently, not sweet, not exactly aggressively but certainly with more fervour than Crowley normally exhibited. That wasn’t to say they were normally chaste, short and sweet or even without enthusiasm. Far from it. But even so…he couldn’t quite explain it, but there was –

“Stop thinking,” Crowley said against his lips, the hint of a growl that was still audible in his voice as he stopped the kiss, evidently reluctant.

“I can’t just – “

“Try, angel. Just feel for a bit, yeah? Enjoy the ride, as it were.”

“But, Crowley, I need to know – “he tried again but the demon interrupted, seemingly knowing what he wanted to say.

“We can take this as far as you want, angel,” he said, pulling away just a little. His eyes were still half-lidded and warm. “And if that isn’t very far or even nowhere at all, that’s fine, too. There’s no rules anymore. There’s just us. Our side.”

The unspoken sentences that followed on that ran, ‘I’ve got you, it’s okay. Whatever you need is okay, more than fine and I’ll be here, so you don’t have to think or worry. I’ve got you.’

Aziraphale’s heart did something complicated in his chest. Not unpleasant at all, just…complicated.

Was he ready for that? For some, or maybe all, of what Crowley was implying and they seemed to be heading towards?

But why not? He couldn’t deny he’d had a thought or two in the direction of something more…carnal, as it were, both over the centuries and millennia they’d known each other, been comrades and friends with a praying and yearning for more, and in particular after the Averted Apocalypse. Each rare time he’d had the thought and become aware of it, he’d pushed it as far back as he possibly could, of course. Not so much these days but still. It hadn’t ever gone away and now it was there, ready for him to use if he wanted.

Crowley’s reassurance, his support and understanding helped, too. He was safe here. No one was going to judge or punish him for the thoughts he had or the things he did.

It’s just the two of us, his thoughts echoed Crowley’s earlier words. Our side. Nobody to answer to but ourselves.

But what if Crowley was disappointed with what he wanted? How much or how little he would need? The angel didn’t even know which would be worse.

He’d just said that he wasn’t but was that just being kind and considerate? Would Aziraphale be taking advantage of him that way instead?

Lips pressed gently against his again. Not hurrying him but letting him know that the demon was still there. Just, if he felt like getting on with it.

“Crowley, I need to know – “

“I just answered that.” There was a sigh to the voice.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not that. Thank you, but I need to know that you want this, too. Not for my sake, for your own.”

Crowley pulled back and looked at him as though he’d asked for the best way to a seaside restaurant on Atlantis.

“What part of this makes you think I’m not invested in this?” he said, and it was almost a demand. Not quite, but there was a heat in the question that had not been present at any point before now. Neither was it the pleasant kind of heat. “That I don’t want this? I’m not a selfless being, Aziraphale. It’s not in me to be.”

The angel opened his mouth to protest. To say that he was quite selfless and that it shouldn’t have been in him to love, either, but…well…

Before he could say anything, though, his body seemed to think it was okay and the perfect time to heed what Crowley was saying. Since its owner was slow on the uptake, it had to take matters into its own hands…and the rest of his body, too.

His hands were still in the soft ginger hair, which hadn’t stopped growing during their discussion. They’d loosened their hold, granted, but they hadn’t been able to entirely relinquish it and now they tightened it again. Not enough for harm but enough so that it was easier to tug the demon’s head close enough for him to kiss. The new length of the hair helped in that regard, admittedly, as did the lack of any significant distance.

Crowley’s hands tightened in turn, returning the kiss wholeheartedly. More than that, his tongue slid out and flicked across the seam of the angel’s lips, asking for rather than demanding access. Aziraphale gave it, without question and without hesitation.

Once he’d gained access, Crowley made a noise somewhere between a pleased hum and a playful growl. It was accompanied by the smile on his lips, felt even as his tongue searched for and found the corresponding tongue in the mouth he was invading.

Again, it wasn’t the first time they’d kissed like this, French though it was, but it wasn’t a common occurrence and it _felt _as though it was the first time.

Which was why Aziraphale wasn’t content to be in any way passive. He met Crowley with eagerness, moaning softly into the kiss as he began to tangle with that tongue, his fingers burying themselves even deeper into the growing hair.

They broke apart far too soon for his liking, even though several minutes passed, and it was Crowley who did it, pulling far enough away that Aziraphale could no longer reach his hair with his hands.

Aziraphale, quite unconsciously, pouted when he did, and he tried to close the distance again.

The demon shook his head and pulled it a little further back.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as it did to his own ears, which, quite frankly, was pleading with a hint of a whine.

“Mmh, sorry, angel. Wait a bit.”

“You did say that we – “

“And we will,” Crowley replied, the smirk gone and his eyes golden with warmth. Or maybe that was heat. “Go – somebody, we _will, _I promise. Anything and everything, angel.”

“Then why -?”

Long fingers swept some hair away from his forehead. “Thought you might like to, well, enjoy the show a little.”

Then he did smile. Grin, really, shaking his head so that the tresses danced a little. Enough to shake them loose and fall more naturally, which in turn brought attention to just how much it had already grown.

In fact, the length was rather close to the one he’d had roughly twelve years ago, now, when he’d delivered one baby Antichrist to a group of Satanic nuns. Which was quite a good length, actually, as it managed to frame his face quite prettily and just about brush the edge of his shoulders.

He could ask him to stop at this length. There would be more than enough to touch, in several different ways. Enough to tangle his fingers in and play with. There would even be a decent amount to style, if that was what he wanted and the ginger could be persuaded, like Crowley had done when he’d assumed the identity of Nanny Asteroth.

Aziraphale found, however, that he still wanted more. Not purely for the chance to watch the hair grow even further – he had a shrewd suspicion that Crowley would rival Rapunzel before that want was satisfied and even then, he wasn’t at all certain – although that was certainly a part of it, but for the chance to, for instance, braid it, either with small plaits like done before or one large one. Or watch it fan out across that pale body, too, of course to appreciate the contrast.

In essence, he wanted to admire and adore it in as many ways as possible, as he did with the rest of Crowley’s body. The hair was in that regard quite perfect because there were so many ways to accomplish that with hair.

His hands were itching again but it was somehow different. More of an anticipatory, almost pleasant tingling itch than the sometimes burning, deep one he’d experienced up until now.

Perhaps it had something do with the fact that it was no longer something that was…well, it hadn’t been forbidden, had it? Not since That Saturday, at least, where the rest of their lives had begun. But even so, it was now within his grasp, both metaphorically and wonderfully physically, in a way that it had never been before.

He almost missed the way that Crowley’s grin widened, and his eyes became a little heavy-lidded as he took in the state of the angel.

“Enough?” the ginger asked.

“Not yet,” Aziraphale answered and to his surprise, found that his voice was just a little bit hoarse. He bit his lip but then decided to go for it. He had been given permission, after all, it could extend to this request. “Could you – do you remember the hair…?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“No, I meant – the hair you had when…at the Ark.”

Pain shot across Crowley’s face for a moment, his smile faltering, and Aziraphale immediately regretted having mentioned it at all.

“My dear, I’m so sorry,” he hastened to say, “I didn’t mean to – “

“I know. I know,” Crowley interrupted, and the smile returned, even if it was tinged with…something. “I just…yeah. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not and I do – “

“Would you _stop_ apologising?” Crowley said and for the first time in the entire conversation, there was a slight snap to his voice. “Did _you_ build the Ark? Order Noah to build it or tell him who he could and couldn’t take with him? Decide to let the flood wash away an entire people?”

There was more than a hint of anger in his voice, now, too, which was understandable. Even so, and despite that fact that the anger, as far as he knew, wasn’t directed at him, the anger, along with the words, made Aziraphale blink and pull back a little.

“No, of course not, but that’s not – “

“Right!” The word, as well as the determined finality to the tone it was said, seemed rather incongruous with what had gone before and Aziraphale couldn’t help being more than a little puzzled as well as worried.

“Crowley, are you sure that you’re – “

“I’m fine, angel. Really. Long time ago. Older than legend, innit?”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale was at a loss as how to fix what his thoughtlessness had wrought.

He grabbed hold of one bony hand, squeezing it in his before he brought it up to his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly, before landing a small kiss on the back of the hand. Then another kiss between the fingers and another as he turned it around to kiss the palm. “I should’ve known better than to bring it up. Should’ve thought about the associations.”

“Aziraphale…”

Green eyes looked up at yellow, guilt and apology in them. “You don’t…you can stop now, if you want. Cut it off, if it helps.”

“Wait, what? Hang on, what do you mean ‘cut it off’?”

“That ought to be rather obvious.”

“Yeah…I mean, no! I’m not going to cut it off.”

Now Aziraphale was getting just a little cross, on top of everything else. “But you shouldn’t be indulging me if it’s causing you pain, dear. I’ve already had far more than could’ve wished for.”

Crowley stared at him; his eyes wide. Then he narrowed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I didn't really intend a small conflict or what you might call it here, it just happened on its own, more or less. :( We'll get it sorted, I promise.  
I liked the little bit of Crowley's own fantasy. Perhaps another time.


	4. Close and exploratory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley grows his hair out, Aziraphale is as fascinated as he thought he'd be and they...try a few new, more intimate things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I hate writing chapter summaries as much as story summaries so why do I do them again? Does anyone read them?

His hair grew faster than before. Not enough to seem instant or like a flash but certainly from the speed of a tortoise to that of a rabbit.

“Crowley!” the angel exclaimed. He unconsciously grabbed the hand he was holding tighter, perhaps in an effort to get him to stop.

The demon didn’t listen, to that or the subsequent demand to stop.

“Crowley, it’s not – don’t do it out of spite!”

That finally seemed to do the trick and get through to him, in so much that he blinked, slow and hard, as though he had to in order to focus and come back, and the hair slowed down in its pace of growth without ever stopping.

“Spite? What are you on about? I’m not doing it out of spite!”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” Aziraphale said and if his voice wasn’t full of concern, it would’ve likely been a little sniffy, “seeing as you sped up the process when I asked you to stop entirely.”

“That’s not spite, that’s contrariness. There’s a difference.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“There is – and I’m being contrary for a reason.”

“Oh, really? And what reason could that possibly be?”

“That I want to prove to you that this,” he waved a hand around them but mainly between them, the implications were clear, “is far more important to me than whatever I might have felt at that time. I won’t let it get in the way of doing something for you.”

Oh.

Aziraphale’s heart felt warm and a little lighter at that admission but at the same time, he felt it thump with pain against his ribs.

“My dear,” he began, “I do appreciate that, truly, but…”

Crowley shook his head but at least he was smiling again, even if it was only slightly. “No buts, angel. What is done is done. That was then and this is now.”

“Crowley…”

The demon moved himself a little closer again, something which the blond felt an unexpected sense of relief at.

“Tell you what you can do,” Crowley said, softly. “You can help me associate the hair with something positive instead.”

“You know that’s not how it works.” One memory wouldn’t wipe away another, unpleasant one, and certainly not a single memory.

The ginger was undeterred. “Mmh. But if we’re going to get technical, I had the long hair after the Ark. Lot of things to associate it with, other than that.”

His smile grew larger and more genuine. “Angel?” he asked.

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley moved close enough that their noses touched. Yellow eyes looked deeply into green for a few long moments, growing progressively warmer as they did so. “Would you help me make good memories to associate it with? Please?”

Though he’d just been asked more or less the same question before, Aziraphale found himself smiling at the earnest way it was asked, coupled with just the hint of mischief visible in the golden depths.

It was a point, wasn’t it? And you had to start somewhere.

“Of course,” he murmured. “As many as you’d like.”

The hand he was still holding lifted and brought his with it. Without breaking eye contact, Crowley brought it up slowly up. Not to the tip of the locks, which had now reached just past the length it’d had in the Elizabethan era – and if Aziraphale remembered every encounter they’d had over the millennia, and if those memories included Crowley’s appearance, including his hair, what of it? – but further up, into where it connected with the skull.

Up where it would be easy not only to bury his fingers deep, but to feel it around his lower arm, too. Not to mention that he could easily cup the skull that way, if he wanted, which was an added benefit.

He followed the guiding without hesitation. Then, as he curled his fingers to tangle in warm, thick hair while also cupping the side of the head, he tilted his head.

This time, it was him who caught the thin lips in front of him in a kiss but neither minded. Nor could they easily tell who it was that moaned but it didn’t matter.

They stayed like that, just kissing softly, exploring each other, for a while, as though to make up for interrupting themselves earlier. A soft hand came to join its counterpart, though it slid a little higher up into the red tresses.

After a time, though, Aziraphale felt the bony hands, which had been tangled in his own hair and clasped around the lapel of his coat jacket, slide around and down, over his back until they reached small of it, where they halted.

He thought that they might just need a better anchor point or perhaps wanted to encourage him to move closer on the seat, which really wasn’t quite built for this.

Therefore, he was rather unprepared for the hands to slide further down to cup the globes of his arse, gripping them, and completely caught off guard when a moment or two later the grip was tightened and used to pull him up and over. In other circumstances he would’ve attempted to stay put but as it was, he was too surprised to do much besides tightening his own hold on the hair between his fingers, his noise of surprise lost in the kiss.

The consequent but unintended harder tug and pull on the hair in turn earned him a moan from the other as he was more or less lifted into the demon’s lap.

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, breaking the kiss. He meant to sound admonishing or at the very least chiding, but it didn’t really manage to come out that way, for whatever reason.

The ginger certainly didn’t seem bothered; he was grinning slightly and looked altogether a little too smug.

“You planned that,” Aziraphale accused but his anger was more of a pout, something which Crowley found adorable, which again spoiled the intended effect.

“Obviously, or you’d be flat on your arse on the floor,” Crowley said. “Which of course has its own benefits but not ones that you’d appreciate right now, I think. And I much prefer you right here, too.”

The grin turned up a few notches as he spoke and he squeezed the flesh in his hands at the same time, for emphasis.

Aziraphale let out a small noise at that, one which wasn’t a squeak. Most decidedly _not_, as that would be undignified. Well, even more undignified compared to earlier.

“Crowley…”

Red hair obscured one yellow eye to some extent. Crowley blew out a directed breath and it fell back into order.

“Would you rather I hadn’t?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that.” To be perfectly honest, he was actually surprised by how lovely it was to be sat here and couldn’t quite help wondering why he hadn’t been in this particular position before now. After all, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had Crowley sprawled across him on many an occasion before this.

That hadn’t been the same thing, though, not even close despite the position, but why had they never progressed from that to, well, to at least having Crowley in _his _lap?

Well, now. There was a thought to be explored at a later date.

Right now, however, he had to admit that he was quite content sitting where he was. More than content, really, which did still surprise him.

Crowley’s grin turned up another notch at the admission and he shifted in his seat, effortlessly stretching out one long leg and planting the other foot firmly on the ground, in a way that kept his legs fairly closed, while still keeping the angel securely in his lap, the closeness of his legs assisting in that matter.

His back wasn’t supported by anything, however, and for a moment, after the realisation came knocking rather hard, Aziraphale felt bad and self-conscious about the fact that he was putting his weight on the much skinnier body beneath. A long moment, during which he tried to shift himself so that he was resting as much of his weight as possible on his knees and his sins rather than the legs and hips of the demon.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Crowley spotted his intentions immediately and his hands tightened as they pushed to hold the blond in place where he was.

“None of that,” he said and there was a warning in his voice that was unexpected. “You aren’t going to hurt me, angel, and certainly not with your weight. Come on, sit down properly.”

But Aziraphale refused; though prevented from moving, he held himself so that he was supporting a good deal of his own weight still. He wasn’t hovering above the other and was in fact sitting down in his lap but there was just enough tension in his muscles to keep the control and weight with him, as it were.

As a distraction, he tried to initiate another kiss. It worked, insofar as Crowley did reciprocate and quite happily so. In fact, they kissed liked that for long enough Aziraphale thought he had gotten away with it and allowed himself to relax just a little.

Then the hands on him shifted and tightened further, though not to the point of being painful.

Crowley broke the kiss to smile at him, yellow eyes glinting with determination and mischief. Before Aziraphale could piece together why, much less say anything, however, he let out a noise as he was suddenly in the air.

Not quite in the air, though, as he was neither flying nor even falling. But he was still in the air in a way, and in a way that he wasn’t at all used to, never mind expected to ever be; Crowley had lifted him up, holding him shockingly easily against himself as he’d simultaneously gotten into a standing position, quite smoothly and without any apparent effort.

Even so, Aziraphale let his hands fall to grip hold of Crowley’s shoulders, firmly so, while his legs wrapped around slim hips quite on their own.

It felt almost redundant to try and admonish the demon, as he evidently wouldn’t listen. Nevertheless, Aziraphale couldn’t help glaring just a little at the other. More than that, though, and more than the shock, he couldn’t help the worry that this was a very bad idea and Crowley would pay the price.

He squirmed a little, to indicate that he should let him down, but all he got out of that was a shift to hike him up a little further and even closer.

So, instead he went for trying to convince him. “Crowley, dear, you really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why? Because you don’t like it?”

“That was not what I said,” the angel said, shaking his head, “I merely – “

“Good. That’s the only reason I’ll let you down for.”

Aziraphale wasn’t going to give up, though. He really shouldn’t be doing this. Not with…considering that… “But dearest, you cannot possibly – “

Hands slid a little to grip at the underside of his thighs. “I obviously _can_,” Crowley said and there was the slightest of hisses. “And I am going to. You are not too heavy or whatever else nonsense you’re determined to think of yourself as.”

He stretched up just a tiny amount so that he could reach the underside of Aziraphale’s jaw, pressing a kiss to the skin there. Then he inhaled, deeply, something which sent a minute shiver through the blond.

What he hadn’t expected, quite apart from everything else, was that something was then murmured against the skin. He wasn’t sure whether he was meant to hear it but regardless, he did catch it.

“I will obliterate that pompous peacock.”

As he daren’t tilt himself backwards for a better look or dislodge a hand to tilt the other’s face so he could see, Aziraphale was stuck. Well, he could do one thing.

“Who do you mean, dear?” he asked, daring to move himself closer to the shell of an ear.

“You know perfectly well who,” Crowley returned, just the hint of a growl in his voice. Aziraphale knew it wasn’t directed at him, though. Not just the growl, either; even when they’d fought and the demon had called him names, he’d never gone that far.

But who else? Oh. Of course. He’d told Crowley about that, hadn’t he? Trying to explain why he shouldn’t be so horrified at the comment he’d been subjected to from Gabriel when they’d switched bodies. It had not had the intended effect on the demon.

“It’s probably for the best if you don’t antagonise him, dear. I don’t believe he’s forgotten us, and he’s certainly not forgiven either of us.”

“He had the audacity to say you had a gut,” Crowley hissed, “and if you open your mouth to in any way agree with him, I will…“

“Yes?”

“I will make your clothes disappear for good.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Not unless you decide to be an idiot.” Lips moved back to mouth at what little exposed flesh was available.

“I really do like this, though,” he said against the skin, flicking his tongue out a little. “You so close and nowhere to go.”

Aziraphale knew that if he wanted to, he could easily get down from where he was more or less wrapped around the skinnier body. That Crowley wouldn’t keep him there if he genuinely wanted to get down. But the sentiment was not just appreciated on an emotional level, it sent another shiver down his spine.

He somehow managed to get those sinful lips back on his own and while they kissed this time, one hand slid back to luxuriate in that wonderful hair that was almost a glorious mane at this point, while still keeping a grip on the back of the head. The growth of the hair had slowed down further, as it had started to reach what he would’ve guesstimated, given his position, to be around the length he remembered.

His other hand, though…did he dare let go and leave it to his legs and his dearest’s grip on him? Yes, of course he did. It shouldn’t even really be a question. Now, if only he could convince his hand of the same thing.

Crowley whispered, “I’ve got you, angel, you’re not going to fall.”

He almost certainly only meant it physically but Aziraphale heard the implications inherent in the words, too, and that made his heart ache, even as it thrummed and thrilled.

It also allowed him to wrest control of his hand back from his mind and he lifted it from its grip on the other’s shoulder and moved it down so he could tug fabric loose and slide his hand up underneath the t-shirt, covered in dirt and pollen, that the ginger was wearing, along warm, delicious skin.

A hard shiver was his reward but true to his word, Crowley didn’t drop him or even falter.

“I think we’d better move this somewhere else,” Crowley said. “Somewhere a little more…accommodating, yeah?”

Aziraphale wholeheartedly agreed.

When they finally made it into the bedroom – the entire trip there had been demon carrying angel, despite the latter’s protests, which admittedly weren’t very effective, coming through suppressed laughs and giggles and more than one kiss – Aziraphale was let go of in a way that meant he hit the mattress gently.

As soon as he hit said mattress with his back, he had a lanky body follow him and crawl onto the bed as well. Which was just as well, really, seeing as they had started another kiss just before they’d entered, and neither were inclined to break it.

At some point they did, though, and Crowley pulled back a little to give what he was laid out before him a closer examination.

Aziraphale, for his part, was quite occupied with the sight of that perfectly familiar, beloved face framed by hair in a way that he’d never seen before and hadn’t conceived of, the locks of it cascading down between and around them.

For Go- for the sake of all that was good in the world, this was more than he ever could’ve asked for, and not purely in terms of the change in hair that Crowley had been willing to change for his benefit. It made his heart ache and trill something fierce at the same time, to the point that had he been human, he probably would’ve worried about said heart.

A hand brushed his cheek, starting at the corner of his eye and only then did he realise that it was brushing away something. Something wet that trailed across his cheeks, evidenced by his other cheek, which was untouched but now that he registered it, felt wet, in a thin stripe.

“Hey, now, no need for that,” Crowley said softly. “It’s okay. Like I said, we can do as much or as little as you like and are comfortable with.”

Aziraphale shook his head. Then, seeing the start of a worried expression, hastened to explain, in words. “No, that’s not…that wasn’t the reason for my tears.”

How can you know that when you seemed surprised at them?”

The angel smiled. “Because I know what I was, and am, feeling right now, and they are not even remotely related to that.”

“What, then?”

“Just how utterly much I love you, my dear, and how incredibly grateful I am to be here, now, with you.”

Yellow eyes widened greatly and rapidly and for a moment, the yellow took over the entirety of the eye. He wrested control back almost immediately but just to see that happen…quite honestly, it took Aziraphale’s breath away.

Not for a moment did he feel threatened. If anything, his heart felt even warmer.

“Angel…” the demon breathed, all wonder and love and just the hint of tears in there, as well, though he would’ve denied it had it been pointed out. Or perhaps he wouldn’t, not anymore. “_Angel.”_

Aziraphale might’ve thought he was going to be kissed again but though Crowley moved closer with his head, it wasn’t his lips he headed towards. Instead it was his cheek, the one that had a tear trail on it still. Lips followed its path down the soft cheek in a peppering of kisses and kitten-licks that should’ve gotten the cheek wetter but somehow didn’t.

It tickled a little but Aziraphale wasn’t going to say that, now was he?

When the lips reached where his jaw met his ear, though, they stopped. Only for a moment, though, then his earlobe was carefully pulled in between teeth, at which point he couldn’t help his small gasp. Before he could do much else, though, the lobe was released again.

“Crowley…” he murmured.

The demon nuzzled into his neck, hair falling around him, further tickling the other, though it was admittedly more of a tingle than an outright tickle.

“Aziraphale,” he whispered back. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Touch you.”

“You are already, dear.” He tilted his neck to expose it a little more give the other better access.

“But Crowley hummed a negative. “Not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

Rather than answering verbally, long fingers came up to trail across the expanse of his shirt and waistcoat. Aziraphale didn’t immediately recognise that touching wasn’t all they were doing; nimbly, even though it was done one-handed, the buttons of his waistcoat were opened and then, so close that it was almost in the same movement, the shirt was unbuttoned, too. All the way up, the hand somehow managing to caress as it did so while the mouth kept nibbling its way across the jawline.

Then there was a grumble and Aziraphale blinked himself into focus.

“You’re always wearing far too many clothes,” Crowley said, ever so slightly frustrated. “And, of bleeding course, out of all the time periods we’ve lived through, you’d choose to stay with clothes that are fiddly to open, to say the least, never mind all the layers.”

“It was the style of the time,” Aziraphale pointed out, though he was just a little distracted still.

“Doesn’t mean you have to stick to it, especially not for that long.” A brief pause. “Well, I suppose there’s a small mercy in that it lacks a vest underneath it all.”

As if to underline his point, his hand slid under both layers of unbuttoned clothes, touching warm, soft skin with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. It took the angel’s breath away, though admittedly that was helped by the fingers moving across the small bud of a nipple.

When the fingers passed over again, they pinched ever so slightly, which earned a small gasp and that in turn made the ginger smile, the shape of it curving against Aziraphale’s throat.

“Much more like it,” he whispered, shifting a little where he was perched just above the blond. “Can’t say I haven’t thought about this.”

But as Crowley continued his exploration with lips, tongue and hand, earning more small gasps and quiet moans, Aziraphale couldn’t help the small sense of guilt that began to creep in.

It was hardly fair that he was lying here, mainly experiencing and subsequently responding to what his dearest was doing to him while Crowley did the work. Not that he wasn’t enjoying it, quite the opposite, but he shouldn’t be the only recipient.

In other words, he felt wrong to be a passive partner in this new part in their lives.

Furthermore, he had something not just to reciprocate but to pay back.

Good thing, then, that he had an idea what to do and the nimbleness as well as strength to pull it off.

He reached his hands up, ostensibly only to grab onto the other’s back, for support and a chance to touch in turn, even if he needed to tug some fabric up to reach actual skin, and to start with, that was what he did. He gave his hands a chance to explore a little first, the skin underneath his fingers warm and just slightly dry, though still very much pleasant to touch.

A pleased hum was his response, as well as the hand trailing down to the top of his trousers, the intention to start divesting him of those, too, quite obvious.

Before he could get to grips with the fastenings, however, Aziraphale saw his opportunity. He tightened his grip to make sure that he had enough of one to be able to make it in one go and safely.

That didn’t clue Crowley in, it seemed, busy as he was, and so, when Aziraphale flipped them over, he let out a noise of surprise that the blond might’ve termed a squawk. Not out loud, though; Crowley wouldn’t just have vehemently denied it, he would’ve been rather indignant about it, too.

Yellow eyes stared up at him in surprise from where the demon was now on his back on the bed rather than anger or anything of the like, however, which he was grateful for.

“What was that for?” Crowley asked and his voice pitched up just a little. Another thing he would undoubtedly deny if questioned. “I was in the middle of something!”

Aziraphale smiled softly, without guile, despite his little stunt. “I know, dear, and I enjoyed it tremendously. It’s just that I can’t help but think – “

“Oi. You weren’t _meant_ to be thinking, idiot. We _agreed_.”

That sounded accusatory but then, it couldn’t really help it, apart from the ‘name-calling’, what with how the words had been lined up and told to march. It was quite tempered, though, by the evident good intentions behind it. Of course, road to Hell and all, but if anyone was qualified to hand out a return-ticket, it was Crowley.

“We did,” Aziraphale agreed. He shifted until he had settled himself more comfortably on his knees with long legs between them. “But nevertheless, I think it’s time I repaid you.”

“What? What the deuce are you on about? Repay me for what?”

The angel didn’t immediately answer but instead braced himself on his elbow rather than his hand beside Crowley’s hair, mostly so that he was closer to the other without putting any of his weight on him and somewhat so that his hand wouldn’t start prickling with sleep. However, it was also because that way, he had a hand free that was within easy reach of that mane of fiery hair that had spread out like a…a flower around Crowley’s hair. Just a little for that reason.

Additionally, to be able to touch it made it easier to make his point, too.

“For this,” he whispered close to the ginger’s ear, catching a thick lock of hair between his fingers and twirling it. He also tugged at it just enough to make sure that it could be felt.

“The hair? Angel, I already told you, I – “

He cut himself off to utter a gasping moan as Aziraphale tugged harder at the lock he was holding and at the same time, swiftly turned his head to suck at the point where the ear met the top of the jawline and suck hard.

“Aziraphale!”

The blond pulled back just a little to admire his handiwork, the warm redness a lovely complement to the surrounding hair, then returned to soothe the spot with some soft kisses and the occasional breath.

“Angel, you – where did you – that’s cheating!”

“Hardly.” But he then pulled back again as concern and uncertainty about whether what he’d just done was in actual fact okay reared their heads.

He searched the other’s face, looking for clues but then, though there was no evidence that Crowley minded, he decided to voice the question out loud, to be on the safe side.

“Is this alright with you?” he asked.

Crowley’s brow furrowed a little in confusion. “Alright? Are you – you’re not – Aziraphale, we’ve _had _that discussion!”

They had and all. “No, that’s not – I meant more in terms of…well, this.” He looked slightly off to the side. Oh, why was he suddenly having trouble verbalising what he meant again? Right. He could do this. “Me, taking charge, I suppose, though that sounds rather more military than – “

He stopped speaking as a peal of laughter, much sweeter than any set of bells, rang out. Snapping his gaze back to the ginger, he saw the light frown had disappeared into laughter lines, the ivory white of his teeth on wonderful display as he laughed.

“Sorry,” he said when he stopped, “it was just – the phrasing.”

“I don’t see what the problem is with that.” If he sounded a little put out and hurt about it, what of it?

“No problem,” Crowley reassured. “No problem at all, angel, just unexpected. Like it, though.”

He brought a hand up to card through the short, platinum-blond hair. “Like the taking charge thing, too, though that was also unexpected. So, yeah, definitely alright. More than alright even if you don’t need to repay me.”

Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss and managed it despite the smile still on the ginger’s lips. “I think I do, dearest. Please allow me. Please.”

Crowley hummed a reply in the affirmative and tilted his head up and a little to the side, the invitation rather clear, even to the angel. He moved his lips down in little kisses from beneath the other’s lips, over the jut of his chin, down and down, interspersing with licks and nips as he reached the throat, which earned him a deeper, almost rumbling hum.

When he reached the point where he was hindered by the neckline of the t-shirt, he paused to consider how best to go about removing said shirt. Pushing it up slowly while he peppered kisses and exploratory licks over every inch of exposed skin was a definite favourite right off the bat.

Crowley noticed his pause and apparently took that as encouragement to take matters into his own hands or rather, in this case, fingertips.

There was a very tell-tale snap and instead of a black shirt, Aziraphale was now gazing at skin that by all rights should be pale but had the same tan and slightly golden hue as the rest of it.

“Now who’s cheating?” he asked, in nothing more than a chiding tone of voice, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t move from his spot, however, neither with his head or with his eyes. After all, it looked ever so delicious, all that skin spread out below him, ready for his closer examination.

“I’m a ruddy demon, of course I’m cheating. I’m allowed to. Not that I’m hearing you actually complain about it, in any case.”

“True,” Aziraphale agreed. “I just would’ve liked to divest you of it myself, that is all. I had quite the lovely idea for it, too.”

“Oh.” A slight note of disappointment. “Right. Next time, then?”

That ‘next time’ had a note of wonder and delight to it, as though he couldn’t quite believe that he was actually going to have a next time, despite everything that had occurred. Aziraphale knew precisely how he felt.

“Most emphatically yes.” And with that, he closed the small distance between him and the gently moving flesh, kissing and nuzzling at the skin covering the solar plexus. Then he moved lower and lower, occasionally stopping to suck at a particular spot until it bloomed bright.

Soft whiteish hair was carded through once again, then again and again, each time doing a little slower as though the end of it wasn’t wanted.

Slight preoccupied though he was, Aziraphale thought he heard a mumble, something along the lines of ‘wouldn’t mind this longer, either’. He could be wrong, of course, and it had been something else entirely or even nothing but encouraging noises, as there were quite a lot of those in various iterations, but somehow, he didn’t think that was the case.

As he moved lower still, shifting for a better position, he pushed his head ever so slightly into the hand that had now settled in his hair and let his own hair grow. Not much, not at all, but just enough that it became proper curls. Perhaps enough that it would be noticed.

It seemed like it did; the hand flexed on top of his scalp and he could feel the hair being tugged at. He suppressed a moan. Oh, yes, that was lovely. Perhaps Crowley had quite the right idea.

“Angel…” was whispered into the stillness of the air.

Aziraphale didn’t answer beyond a hum, one which might just have a bit of a moan to it still.

He had other things he wanted to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...we're only going to live up to the rating from here on out, just a heads up (and I might need to up it, too, later). Probably as much if not more fluff as smut (smuff? Smuff sounds good) because I cannot not write something sweet with these two, it seems.  
I could actually hear Tennant's voice on the "what was that for?" when I wrote it which made me chuckle.  
I'll get the promised sequel for Nesting out soon, I promise. I'm working on it.


	5. Love making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally get to know each other in the more biblical sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...shoot me for that chapter summary, eh?  
I'm so sorry for making you all wait this long. I didn't intend to but this just kept on getting longer and longer and while I could cut it and make it two chapters, I don't like cutting smut-chapters, it doesn't feel right. Hopefully the wait will have been worth it.

When he got to a prominent hipbone, he sucked particularly hard, then, as he watched the colour spread like milk in tea, nosed along the waistline of the tight jeans, which thankfully hadn’t been miracled off like the shirt had. Not yet anyway.

He couldn’t feel anything beneath but that didn’t matter. Perhaps there would be an Effort of one sort or another when he opened the jeans and perhaps there wouldn’t. Either option was just fine.

What he was there for, was intent on doing, was explore and map out the exquisite creature beneath him in a way he’d never quite allowed himself before. To show his beloved demon just how perfect he was to him, regardless of how he looked.

Opening the button of the jeans with one hand, he then paused. Only to shift again, more firmly onto his knees, so he could grab both sides of the fly and start to tug the jeans down. He wanted to go slow but at the same time, he did not want to have them suddenly dematerialise while he was working.

So intent was he on his work, though admittedly he was also slightly distracted by getting to reveal not just the small amount of cotton but even more skin down the legs – and yes, he’d seen it before, too, but context matters, which was part of the reason he wanted to reveal it like this in the first place – that he failed to notice both the way he was touching the various parts underneath the legwear as well as the…reaction he had from the demon. More than one, really, but that one in particular, filling out cloth right above his gaze.

When he did notice, he only got a short second to comprehend it as he simultaneously, unintentionally exhaled, the breath blowing across the cloth-covered external Effort, which seemed to be a sort of breaking point for the poor Crowley.

Then he was distracted by the way he was more or less hauled upwards, the strength of the wiry body still somehow surprising him, though he knew it shouldn’t.

Crowley also sat up somewhat at the same time, which effectively pulled Aziraphale back into his lap. Not that the angel could find it in himself to mind and in any case, there were the distinct differences of less clothes and consequently skin touching in a few spots, a far better and broader seat than before and, not least, the fact that something firm and long was pressing against him.

Aziraphale would have said something, would’ve protested that he wasn’t anywhere close to being done with exploring, but as his mouth was captured the moment he was seated, he was somewhat hindered. Not to mention preoccupied.

Long fingers splayed themselves against his exposed chest as if measuring it and taking it all in, a bit literally, too.

Aziraphale made a noise that was halfway between pleasured moan and embarrassed squeak. He tried to clamp down on the latter part, knowing that it was more than a bit ridiculous, but couldn’t quite help it. It was bad enough that Crowley again had to take some of his weight, but at least he could get a better leverage here and shift it back on himself.

Crowley didn’t stop kissing him or admonish him. Instead, the fingers slid to his nipples again, twisting slightly as they pinched, pebbling them back up.

The blond moaned into the kiss but then broke away.

“Really, my dear, that is not fair of you,” he said as he looked down at the other. “I had not even properly begun to repay you for…and then you go and – “

“Spoil it all by saying something stupid?”

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry. Just a song lyric, popped into my head. I wasn’t – how can you expect me to lie still like that when you bloody well tease me?”

“I did n – Crowley!”

The demon had shifted underneath him and pressed up into the plush arse, Effort and all. More than that, though, there seemed to be less barrier than Aziraphale would’ve expected, which made the hard length easier to feel.

Oh!

He ought to admonish the other. Tell him again that it really wasn’t fair, for several reasons, and that he was being a far greater tease. Perhaps get up entirely – no. No, that he didn’t ought to do nor did he wish to.

What he did instead of any of those things was shift himself and press down into that contact, in a mostly unconscious attempt to get that hardness into a better position. It seemed as though if he could just about manage to move a little more in the right direction, then…

The next thing he knew, he was sans trousers. His underwear was still intact but as that was rather thin material, comparatively speaking, the different was quite significant. Enough so that he didn’t have the presence of mind to be mad or even worried about the whereabouts or even existence of his trousers.

“Crowley!” It came out as a gasp that turned into a drawn-out moan. Oh, _dear._

“Mmmh…you feel good, angel,” Crowley murmured as he brought his legs up so his feet were braced against the bed and his knees were bent. Which in turn sent the angel in his lap sliding a little, settling him more firmly into said lap and its occupant. “So very good. I always knew you would.”

Crowley pressed his face into the place where neck met shoulder, nuzzled there for a moment then began to lick in long, slow strokes of his tongue. Meanwhile, his fingers moved from Aziraphale’s chest up to push the upper layers of clothes the rest of the way off, assisted by the blond. Once that was done, one hand trailed back down to the small of Aziraphale’s back, right above the edge of the underwear, fingers gliding gently over skin and into the small divot there.

Aziraphale wouldn’t have expected that to be in any way a sensitive part but he couldn’t deny that when Crowley applied a bit of pressure, there were nerve endings that decided to come to life, and he suppressed a moan.

The pressure was increased at that, as though Crowley wasn’t a fan of the fact that he had suppressed the noise. Then, applying the same amount of pressure, the fingers slid lower, down below the waistband of his underwear and into the cleft created by generous cheeks, circling ever so gently as they did so.

It did the trick; though he tried, Aziraphale couldn’t entirely suppress the moan on his lips at that and when the fingers found the furled opening and circled it with just the tiniest bit of pressure, the gasp for breath was sharp and shuddery.

After circling just a few times, though – just long enough to get used to it and long for more – the fingers were removed entirely, and the angel was embarrassed to note that he let out a small whimper at that. A very small one, granted, but even so.

The other hand grabbed the back of his neck. It didn’t try to pull him in, though, just stayed there as an anchor, though to whom Aziraphale couldn’t say for certain.

“This okay, angel?” Crowley asked, voice quiet and tender. The fingers on the neck moved gently back and forth, just a little, rubbing softly.

“I – oh. What?” Aziraphale had to blink to concentrate on what was being said, his focus elsewhere. “I’m sorry, what did you say.”

“This okay? All of this, I mean.” Crowley trailed his fingers down over the swell of a buttock, which sent the flesh underneath the fabric into goose bumps. “Going this far.”

“You did say we could go as far as…as I liked.” It felt wrong to voice something as selfish as that, but Crowley did say that it was up to Aziraphale, didn’t he?

“I did. I just want to make sure that this is still within what you would like and felt comfortable with.”

“I am not certain whether ‘comfortable’ sufficiently covers this. Ooh…!” Crowley had shifted upwards while at the same time pressing down with the hand. “Crowley, I can’t…you can’t ask me such questions and then distract me like that.”

“Suppose not.” However, though he did shift back and stopped pressing, he did not remove his hands. Thankfully. “But seriously…you will tell me if it’s going beyond – “

Aziraphale silenced him with a kiss. “Of course, I will. I promise you.”

Another kiss, to his cheek. “Thank you, my dear. Now please…will you show me?”

Crowley made a noise at that, one that sounded deepfelt even as it was evidently suppressed. He removed his hand from a buttock but only for as long as it took to snap his fingers. What there had remained of articles of clothes vanished, and Aziraphale could unquestionably feel the difference made by even just a single layer of clothing.

Especially when the hand returned to touch his buttock with its full width. He shivered as it spread its fingers and glided up and down, squeezing occasionally as it moved, and he couldn’t help but press into the contact. It felt soft and warm, slightly rough and just a little bit electric.

That electric feeling increased a few moments later when the tip of the fingers slid into the crease of his arse down low and made their way upwards, with more pressure applied than the first time. When they reached his hole and pressed with a good deal more pressure, one tip even sinking in a little, it became an outright jolt.

He made a noise that was hard to quantify except as one of surprised pleasure. Crowley, unseen by the angel, smiled and trailed it upwards again, just to test the waters and well, perhaps tease just a tiny bit. No harm in that.

Or rather, it was his intention to pull away from the entrance. He didn’t get further than the very start, however, before a hand clamped around his wrist and pushed at it, the intention very clear.

Please,” Aziraphale said. He reached up with the other hand, trailed it across Crowley’s cheek until he reached the hair then buried his hand in it. “Please, dear, that feels…oh!”

The almost squeaking sound had been due to the demon complying and pushing further inside with the one finger, keeping the rest outside for the moment.

“Oooh!” the angel moaned, pressing down into the contact. But his position and his proportions meant that he was still touching Crowley’s erection with his stomach. Not fully and not with any kind of real force but it still sent another shiver through him, to feel the unquestionable evidence that Crowley was excited by him. Had made the Effort for his sake and was enjoying it. Enjoying _Aziraphale_ and his body.

It certainly helped dispel some of the self-consciousness about his weight and his overall appearance. Not all the way, not yet, that would take more time but a good deal of it, at least. Along with all the other small indicators he’d had since he’d confessed his…fetish for Crowley’s long hair, of course.

Which looked gorgeous as it flowed down his back. To be honest, it looked stunning regardless, to the point that he wasn’t sure how he’d kept his hands off it when it had been within reach.

Feeling the demon’s obvious erection like that as well as feeling the finger sliding just a little bit further inside, he wondered whether he oughtn’t at least slicken the way for that finger and its possible companions, however many of them there could be up there. Oh, there was a thought – he shivered again and pushed down even more on the welcome intruder

Then, so fast on the heels of that that it was stepping on them, came the thought of whether he ought to have manifested an Effort of his own, aside from his hole, and then he wondered if Crowley would’ve preferred to have a different kind of entrance to toy with.

Aziraphale had to admit, though he was, to put it mildly, inexperienced in these matters, that he quite enjoyed this and wondered how he might like to have a penis, too, thinking that he would. But –

He felt a beleaguered but somehow still good-natured sigh wash over his bare skin.

“What will it take to stop you thinking for more than a few minutes?” the ginger murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“You to never stop?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but the way Crowley looked at him, not to mention the feel of the cock moving in a jerk against his stomach, prevented him from feeling terrible about them.

“Well, that can certainly be arranged,” Crowley almost outright purred.

A second finger joined the first, bringing with it some slickness that was unexpected but very welcome. They began a circling scissoring motion, which made Aziraphale spread his legs a little more, insofar as that was possible right then, and dig his fingers deeper into the red mane, pulling on it.

“Would you – ah – would you rather that I had – he gasped and then had to stop to keen momentarily when one finger reached a little deeper than he thought it was capable of and just about brushed against something. “Wouldn’t you rather that I had…”

“Had what, angel?” Crowley asked innocently against the skin of his neck that he’d just returned to nibble on. His scissoring had lightly brushed something again.

“Oh, you beast – had another configuration?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I – aah! – what I mean. Genitalia-wise.” Crowley didn’t answer and Aziraphale felt he had to elaborate. “That the other type of entrance was…oooh…was more suited…”

“What? Oh.” Crowley pulled away at that, to better see the other, presumably. His expression was one of stark disbelief mixed with a grin, as though he was sure he was being pranked. The fingers inside of Aziraphale had stopped moving, too, and it took a lot for the blond not to whimper, which would frankly be embarrassing.

“Now you’re just taking the piss, aren’t you?”

“Crowley, your language sometimes really does leave something to be desired.”

“I can swear if I want to – and you must be bloody well taking the piss, saying something like that.”

“But it is more traditional – “

“And since when have I ever cared about traditional? If you want to have a pussy, then that’s fine. Up to you. They can be a lot of fun, both to play with, and especially to have. But if you don’t, you don’t. If you just want a tight little hole – “and only then did the fingers move again, just enough to earn a shudder and a small yelp from the angel – “without anything else, I’m not going to complain. I’ll happily take you in whatever configuration you come in. Including the hattrick.”

It took Aziraphale a moment to understand what Crowley meant by that. When he did, he had to blink and swallow in the face of it, not noticing that he’d clenched hard on the fingers inside of him. Not until Crowley let out a noise, a strangled, needy and yet growly one.

The fingers were removed in one go and Aziraphale couldn’t help but whimper a little at the loss. That was until he was shifted and jostled, then grabbed and lifted him by the hips to better and more easily position him. He was lowered back, at which point he felt something blunt but slick at his entrance. It didn’t press in, just teased him with its presence at his rim.

The difference from the fingers, even with this little touch that was more of a tease than anything, was palpable and Aziraphale shifted his hips back and down, unconsciously trying to get more inside of him. The hand gripping red hair had tightened.

But the hands still on his hips held him fast, preventing him from getting more.

He made a small, unintended mewling sound.

“You okay with this?” Crowley murmured. He probably meant it to sound comforting or perhaps even assured but it came out just a bit hoarse, which spoiled the effect.

“Yes!” The exclamation was more forceful than intended but it was unquestionably sincere.

“Yes, please. Please, Crowley. Now. I…I want to…I want you…” He trailed off into a moan, as his normal eloquence failed him in the face of not having the right words to describe it as well as the sensations he was not used to.

Crowley took pity on him, without coming off as remotely superior.

“I’ve got you, angel, I’ve got you,” he whispered against warm, trembling skin. He secured his grip on cushioned hips better and, making sure of the angle, pushed the blond down onto his cock, at a relatively slow but steady pace.

It was too much. It was not remotely enough. It was perfectly _right_ and perfect, and he struggled to deal with it all at once.

Luckily for him, he had Crowley there who was entirely happy to help. He tilted his head upwards and caught the angel’s lips in a kiss, distracting him and giving him a focus, an anchor, to hold onto while he sank deeper and deeper inside. Perhaps it wasn’t an anchor purely for the angel, either.

What also helped was the ability to sink his hand into dark red hair over and over, twisting it around his fingers and tugging on it each time he did so. Not that the demon seemed to mind, making muffled noises of pleasure into their joined mouths as his erection was swallowed by soft, slickened heat that squeezed at him.

The pace might be considered slow but to be perfectly honest, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could handle going any faster right then and there. It was such an alien feeling, both to have something inside of him like that, and especially to have it feel as good as it did, surprisingly without any discomfort. Even when the head had made it past the rim, it felt full all the way through.

His breath was gradually hitching into soft gasps as he sought to adjust to the sensations, grateful for the twin anchors he had. If he was a bit clumsier even than before in his kiss, then Crowley was thoughtful enough to not make any comment or big deal out of it. Just as he made sure to go at a pace that gave Aziraphale time to adjust and to say stop if he needed to.

Then, when he was certain he couldn’t take anymore, the grip on his hips tightened, just a little, just enough for the hands to press him down while the hips pushed upward, sliding the last inch and a half of Crowley inside of Aziraphale.

The hair was yanked on at that and Aziraphale moaned deeply into Crowley’s mouth, something of a keen to it as his muscles flexed and shifted to accommodate it all.

Oh, it felt so _good!_

Crowley broke the kiss, then, going back for a brief one before fully pulling back. His hands that were on soft hips hadn’t let up on their grip since he’d pulled them flush together and his eyes had dilated pupils. They were still vertical slits but far fatter than normal and there was a bit less of the sclera than normal.

“You okay, angel?” he rasped

“I…I think so, yes. More than okay.” He shifted in an effort to bring himself closer and get a little better seated. “Oooh. That’s…”

“Yeah, probably don’t –_ bloody!_ – don’t do that just yet.” It sounded just a little bit strained but in a good way, if that made any sense.

“What should I do, then? I…oh, yes, oooh…I don’t believe this is all there is to it.”

Crowley laughed, almost in spite of himself, it seemed. “No. Not quite. But there’s no rush. Don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I think that boat’s rather sailed, my dear – and if you so much as dare to suggest that we stop, I will make sure that – “

“That what?” asked Crowley. It sounded a bit like a challenge, just enough so that Aziraphale followed through rather than let it die away as he’d intended.

“That there will be do-gooders turning up at our door every day.”

“You wouldn’t!” Even as the indignance quavered in his voice, Crowley shifted his hips and gave a rocking thrust upward at a different angle, then again at a slightly different angle again, and then –

Any thought Aziraphale might have had on following through on that threat flew right out the window as the head of the cock inside of him brushed against something. Something that had been just about brushed again before but hadn’t been properly touched. Something which, to be perfectly honest, when touched fully and for more than half a second, sent all of his thoughts scattering to a greater or lesser extent, replacing it with _sensations._

He couldn’t help it; he shook and let out a frankly garbled noise of pleasure. How could it feel even better than before?

Before he had time to gather himself, though, he was being lifted up, the withdrawal of that fullness hard to bear until Crowley pushed him down again. It wasn’t rough or outright forceful, but it wasn’t anything like gentle, either.

The next push in didn’t quite hit it right but Aziraphale shifted himself and there, there! Oh, yes! Yes!

“Alright, angel?” Crowley asked and it was a groan as much as anything.

“Yes!” he cried in reply. “Oh, yes, there, oh, my goodness, that’s…!”

His hands moved down to grab at bony shoulders, mostly for better support. But there was also the worry from the part of him that could still think clearly that he’d pull too hard on Crowley’s hair and might pull some out if he kept that up. Of course, the demon could rematerialize it if he needed to, but that wasn’t really the point.

The grip on the shoulder had another benefit, though; as well as support for keeping steady as he was lifted up by surprisingly strong hands, it gained him some leverage to move himself.

For the first few thrusts, however, he didn’t have the presence of mind to do much more than hold on. If the experience of just being filled in the first place had been wonderful, to be filled over and over again was overwhelming. He was panting, he trembled slightly, and his fingers dug into the muscles beneath it.

Crowley seemed quite content to do the work, too, and his look of equal parts concentration and rapture as he thrust upwards and withdrew, sinking into that warm, soft heat all the way each time.

But soon, Aziraphale couldn’t help but use his grip to push down hard as Crowley thrust up, his muscles clenching around the length inside of him as he did so.

The demon let out a noise somewhere between a strangled shout and a pleased growl at that. His fingers dug into soft flesh hard and the next thing Aziraphale knew, he was on his back, Crowley above him with hands on either side of his head, the long hair draping down all around him, it felt like, and somehow still inside of him.

Aziraphale stared, thrown in more ways than one.

But this new angle was…oh, goodness, that was…and it didn’t exactly hurt, either, that he got to see and otherwise experience the hair almost cocooning his head as well as the face above him.

Crowley stared back and his eyes were wide. Then he bent down and caught Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss that was a good deal more…it was wrong to say that it was more passionate because that wasn’t true, the others had been passionate, too. But it was more…fervent than before, most certainly.

The lanky body was also shaking just slightly. Perhaps more than slightly but oddly enough, he wasn’t moving. Which really wasn’t alright. Neither thing was, to be perfectly honest, not if the shaking was in any way negative and it seemed that it might be.

Aziraphale didn’t want to push him either, though, not unduly so. So, what he did was wrap his legs around slim hips, in what hopefully was encouraging rather than demanding. His hands were still holding onto the other’s shoulders.

It had to be said that it did achieve something; Crowley started to move his hips, mostly rocking, but he also broke the kiss and instead buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

There he began to kiss the skin, but the angel could also hear him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I’m sorry’, over and over again.

Aziraphale turned his head to both nuzzle into the ginger’s cheek and to better be able to whisper into his ear.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my dearest,” he whispered, punctuating the statement with a small kiss to an ear.

Crowley lifted his head just a fraction but didn’t otherwise move. “I can’t…I couldn’t…I’m trying to…” He trailed off and the blond could see him squeezing his eyes shut.

“To what?” Aziraphale prompted. To stay focused when that length, still hard inside of him, kept teasing him with the promise of movement was a bit more of a challenge than he would’ve expected. Still, he was going to do it because his demon needed him to.

“To keep it slow.”

“And if I said I don’t want slow right now?”

That did make Crowley lift his head a little further, just enough to look the other in the eye but still close to the shoulder.

“But it’s your – “he protested. His hips didn’t stop rocking, however, which was interesting, if a little maddening in its tease.

“Yes, it is, and slow has been wonderful. But if you want more, want faster, then I’d be happy to follow.” Especially given that Aziraphale had been the one to push back and squeeze and had caused the reaction in Crowley. “In fact, I’d be delighted.”

He hadn’t wanted to use underhand methods but seeing as Crowley was very reluctant to take the lead on this, was in fact being incredibly chivalrous and scared that he’d genuinely overwhelm the angel – which might still be the case, but he had a shrewd suspicion, even inexperienced as he was, that it would be more than worth it – he might have to.

So, he took a bit of a risk, if you could even call it that, and pushed his hips down. Not exactly hard and without squeezing this time but enough to, hopefully, put emphasis on and credibility to what he’d said.

Even so, Crowley gasped and the hands on either side of Aziraphale’s head grabbed and pulled at the sheets which were underneath.

“Aziraphale!” he groaned, his hips jerking forward of their own accord, it seemed. Aziraphale wasn’t complaining, though.

“Please, Crowley. I want you to.”

He didn’t specify what that was, because he didn’t feel he needed to. Whatever Crowley wanted to do, Aziraphale would be delighted to experience, especially if it produced similar results to what he’d gotten earlier.

Crowley lifted his head fully, stared at Aziraphale with a gaze that was almost burning, which the angel met steadily, his own eyes warm.

Then slim hips pulled back but before Aziraphale could even think to protest, his mouth was claimed again and at the same time, Crowley pushed himself forward, filling that passage in one long slide that had his pelvis flush with the arse of the blond.

Aziraphale only just got to enjoy the feeling of being completely full before Crowley pulled back, shifting slightly in angle. He pushed forward again, groaning through his nose and into the other’s mouth as he did so.

The angel didn’t fare much better, moaning as he tried to meet the demon with every push, his legs assisting him.

After a series of long, almost searching thrusts at slightly different angles, he hit that one spot just right Aziraphale was scrabbling with his hands at Crowley’s shoulders and then his back, keening into the kiss.

How could it feel that good no matter what angle it was touched from? Oh, _goodness_!

If he’d sported a penis himself, he was sure it would’ve jumped and twitched at that and even as it was, his whole body…no, tingled didn’t even do it justice.

Crowley broke the kiss and smiled against soft lips. He’d also changed to rocking his hips again, though as it was in a circular motion that hit that spot, Aziraphale couldn’t quite find it in him to complain.

“There. Finally. Fuck, angel, you feel bloody amazing,” he said, panting just slightly, his voice a bit deeper. “Better and better each time.”

“Crowley, _please_.”

“You ready?” He raised one hand to skim down over what he could reach of Aziraphale’s body, which included a nipple, which started to pebble a little at the touch, and over the soft, warm skin of the belly between them.

“Yes! Ready, yes, so ready, I need you. Please get on with it and show me!”

Crowley chuckled at that.

“As you wish, angel.”

He shifted himself further forward, practically laying himself down on top of Aziraphale, which was just about perfect, feeling so much of him. The thrusts began again, shorter but faster until they shifted back to long and hard.

One of Aziraphale’s hands had found its way down to a surprisingly curved buttock for the skinniness of the body it belonged to and squeezed as he pulled at it, urging Crowley even closer, rocking into every thrust as best he could.

He was panting and moaning as the pace picked up and up, his mouth open.

It wasn’t only moans that made it past his lips. Broken sentences of pleasure and praise fell from them, too, soon beyond his control or even conscious knowledge as Crowley set about showing him well and good. Not just with his dick either, parting him again and again oh so deliciously, just what he wanted, what he needed, but with his lips, his teeth and his clever fingers, which seemed to be everywhere, setting his body alight.

At some point, he threw his head back, basking in the sheer pleasure of it all, his eyes unseeing.

He didn’t even dare wonder how it might feel should he have chosen to manifest any other genitalia. It might cause him outright discorporation at this point. As it was, it felt as though his body was ramping up towards something, coiling tighter and tighter inside.

Crowley took the opportunity of his bared throat and latched on, nibbling at the stretched skin there, his slightly sharp teeth, even in this form, sending small frissons of pleasure up Aziraphale’s spine.

He was very careful, though, still. Despite the increased pace and force of his thrusts, he never gave the impression that he wasn’t in control.

“Crowley, please, I…I don’t, I can’t…it’s too much but I – I – !“ It was almost a wonder he could form words at this point, much less something semi-coherent. He didn’t know what he needed, he just knew that he needed it and needed it bad.

“I’ve got you, Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured, his voice little more than deep rasp at this point, as he hadn’t exactly been quiet himself. He wasn’t outright panting, but he was covered with a sheen of sweat and his pupils were wider than normal.

He brought a soft hand back to encourage it to tangle in his locks, which were quite frankly something of a mess by that point. Aziraphale happily and gratefully obliged.

“I’ve got you, hold on.”

With that, he seemed to grow larger somehow, or perhaps it was just that he lifted Aziraphale’s hips up from the bed a little, using the grip on his hips to almost slam into the plush rump at just the right angle.

When he bent his head a little and sucked _hard _at the column of still outstretched throat, the hint of teeth pressing against it as he thrust in, it proved too much for the poor angel and his whole body spasmed and shook in utter bliss that radiated from his entrance but mostly from all over his body at once.

Said entrance spasmed and convulsed along with the rest of the body’s spasms, and Crowley made a choked keen himself, releasing his hold on the other’s throat. He thrust fast, hard, as deep as possible once, twice, three times into the twitching channel and then he let out a deep yet loud noise that was almost a roar as he came.

The angel then had to contend with the experience of being filled with something else, too, and though it was also rather an…odd experience, it somehow fit. It was certainly overwhelming on top of everything else and he couldn’t help closing his eyes as he felt Crowley continue to ejaculate.

What the demon didn’t do was collapse the moment he was finished or even just after. No, what he did was release the hold on Aziraphale’s hips, and there would definitely be bruises to be miracled away later, if he felt like it, gently, guiding them back down onto the mattress.

Then he brought his hand up to run it through soft, blond curls that were flattened by sweat and being pressed into the mattress as they moved but the small amount of length added to it previously meant that it curled a little around his fingers as he did so.

Aziraphale, his eyes still closed, hummed weakly but contentedly and leaned into the contact. When the hand moved to the side over an ear and then down a bit further to cup the side of the jaw, though, he not only leaned into that as well, he slowly opened his eyes.

To find Crowley looking down at him, with the softest, most open and, quite frankly, _vulnerable _expression. He was smiling, too, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder whether it was actually possible to discorporate through sheer love and adoration. It most certainly felt that way at that moment.

“Alright?” Crowley asked and there was more than a hint of amusement to his voice. Not humour, not flippancy. Just warm, inclusive amusement. Delight, in fact, both of which were quite different beasts.

“I think…that ‘alright’ is quite decidedly…insufficient to describe that,” Aziraphale replied, his speech more hampered by his need to draw breath than he thought it would.

Crowley laughed at that, full-throated and true.

I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then,” he said once he’d finished, though he kept smiling.

There was a small pause. “I’m glad,” he then said, quietly.

Aziraphale brought his hands up – up until that point he was only half-aware of the fact that he had hands, much less where they were, after, well – to lace his fingers together behind Crowley’s neck. Then he tugged until the ginger relented and their mouths met in a soft, sweet kiss.

While they kissed, Crowley eased himself out gently, some ejaculate following right behind, trickling down the curve of a buttock. Aziraphale made a noise, of enquiry as much as surprise, into the kiss but Crowley shook his head lightly and snapped the fingers of his free hand.

All of it was gone at that, including what remained inside the blond, much to his surprise and just a little to his disappointment, which surprised him further. Why _on earth_ would he be interested in –

His attention was diverted by Crowley lowering himself back down on top of him, any hint of effort gone. That caused another small and surprising spark of disappointment in Aziraphale, though perhaps that was more understandable.

Besides, it wasn’t as though it was gone forever, was it?

He was then further distracted when Crowley tilted himself to the side and, with a quick tangling of a lithe leg with a thicker one and a hand on a side, tilted Aziraphale with him.

The angel would’ve asked what he was playing at, except even he could see that.

He happily snuggled into the lanky body.

Lips pressed against his temple as limbs wrapped more properly around him. There was another snap and they were nestled quite wonderfully beneath soft covers that were neither too snug nor too warm. It was marvellous.

“Thank you,” he murmured into a neck then realised and turned his head up, repeating the sentiment.

“No need to thank me, angel.” There was more than a touch of colour in Crowley’s cheek, but he was still smiling.

“But there is, dearest,” said Aziraphale. “I have never experienced anything like it, and I could not imagine having a better first experience than this. Which all comes down to you – and that apart from the rest of it, especially this.”

He reached out and took a lock between his fingers, rubbing it gently.

Now the colour in Crowley’s cheeks was strong enough to clash quite horribly with his hair.

“Aziraphale…” he murmured.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale returned, full of warmth. Then, after a pause, and with emphasis, “Thank you.”

He beamed and after a moment, two, the smile returned, broad and lovely.

There was silence for a lovely long while after that. That wasn’t to say that they did nothing, however.

“Next time, I think I need to pay some more attention to these lovely things,” Crowley muttered at one point as he slid his hand up the underside of Aziraphale’s thigh.

The angel had moved his leg up, so that his thigh lay just underneath a bony hipbone, granting easier access, which the demon most definitely appreciated.

“I didn’t get much of chance before.”

“I think you had all the opportunity in the world, you were just distracted,” Aziraphale murmured back, his heart leaping at the thought of ‘next time’. There would be a ‘next time’. Oh, how lovely. Hopefully there would be many _more_ times.

Just to think of all the possibilities there were left to explore!

“Exactly. So many good places, it was hard to know where to focus.”

“Mmh. I can decidedly say that I share the sentiment.”

“You knew exactly where to focus, angel.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to redden a little. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But – “

“It’s not like I blame you, is it? I just never suspected that you might want to…any of it, really. I’m not complaining. I’m the opposite of complaining.”

“Approving.”

“Yeah, that.” He tugged slightly at the leg over his. “Now come here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is still probably more fluff than smut but hopefully it was at least sweet. I liked writing them like this here, even with that said, I'm still a bit nervous.  
As for the genitalia and lack thereof, I hope it worked because I really felt like exploring what it might (stress on might) be like.  
I could end it here but I have a short little 'epilogue' sort of thing in mind to tie it all up with so please stay tuned. :)


	6. Braided: An epilogue of sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that it's long and luscious, it would be a shame not to let Aziraphale indulge in some of his other thoughts, wouldn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, I did have a small epilogue in mind. It's nothing fancy but...  
Thank you for all the sweet feedback on the last chapter, guys, seriously. You've made this little strange and sweet idea a joy to post.

“Hold still.”

“I am.”

“You are not.”

Even with his head held, admittedly, perfectly still, a yellow eye managed somehow to still glare at the one behind him quite effectively. “I bloody well _am_, Aziraphale. As still as a ruddy mouse. What’s taking you so long? It’s a blessed braid you’re doing, not something out of a blessed nineteenth century fashion magazine.”

No, but it would be quite lovely getting his hands on one of those. There were one or two styles from those magazines that he remembered which would look quite good on his demon, Aziraphale thought. He would have to get in touch with some of his contacts for that, see whether there was anybody who specialised in that sort of thing. There must be.

“It’s not just a braid, Crowley. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Right. Just don’t see what was wrong with a normal braid, that’s all. You’ve done those before. You’re good at those, even the Belgian one.”

“That would be a French plait, dear, and thank you. I just…I saw it and looked rather beautiful, so I thought that maybe…” He trailed off.

Perhaps the mermaid braid had been a tad too ambitious for him to try right now, but he thought he had a pretty good handle on it, really. He hadn’t meant to make Crowley suffer, though, and his hands faltered.

A hand came up, steady and sure for not being guided by sight, to find one of his and interlace their fingers.

“Didn’t say I hated it, did I?”

“Your implications were rather unequivocal, dearest. Would you be patient just a little longer while I undo it?”

The hand in his tightened as it tugged, in an attempt to prevent him, it seemed.

“Don’t even think about it,” the ginger said, warning clear.

“But – “

“No. I’ve sat still for this long now; I’m determined to see what it will look like and you aren’t going to stop me.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to stop,” Aziraphale reminded him, still a little nonplussed by the contradiction.

“No, I wanted you to be _finished_, there’s a difference.” The long-fingered hand let go of the plumper one but not before he’d taken the opportunity to bring it up for a quick kiss.

“But you were impatient for it to be finished. Presumably still am.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t you be if I was the one just behind you for a blessed hour and you weren’t allowed to move at all?”

Oh. That was…that he hadn’t considered. Well, seen in that light, he could most certainly better understand. But there was one small point. “It has not even been close to an hour, dear.”

“Whatever. The point stands.”

“It does indeed.” A moment’s pause. “If you can sit still for another, oh ten minutes tops, then I promise I’ll be all done.”

Crowley hummed an affirmative and did indeed sit utterly still as Aziraphale worked. He did so with just the tip of his tongue out as he concentrated on working quickly without sacrificing the neatness and tightness he had managed to achieve up until then and which would be essential for both aesthetic purposes and for the practical side of it not unravelling immediately. Of course, the pins he’d put in along the way as per the instruction he’d gotten for this helped, too.

When he was finally done, he paused. Should he just step back and say, ‘all done’? He supposed he could, it would certainly be a neat and efficient way. But he found that he didn’t want to; that it was just a bit too…pat, so to speak, apart from the fact that Crowley would’ve sussed it himself.

So instead, he placed his hands gently on either side of the demon’s head and tilted it backwards so he could plant a soft kiss on the forehead, noting that Crowley had his eyes closed.

“There we are,” he said, his voice as soft as his kiss. “Thank you.”

Yellow eyes opened and focused immediately on the upside-down visage of the angel. They managed to smile all on their own.

“You’re more than welcome,” he whispered back and Aziraphale was well aware the reply was as little purely about the braid as his thank-you had been.

Then Crowley stood up and walked a few steps, then turned around to face Aziraphale, slow enough for a good look but just fast enough that the plaited hair swung around with him. The distance gave him a better view.

“Well, how do I look?” Crowley asked, spreading out his arms and hands. “Pretty enough for the palace, do you think?” There was just the hint of a smirk.

“What?” Then it clicked and he smiled. “Oh. Oh, yes, quite so, my dear. The belle of the ball, without a question. The prince will most definitely be swept off his feet the moment he lays eyes on you.”

The demon was next to him in two long strides of his legs but despite the speed and his height, he didn’t feel intimidating at all. Then again, he never really had, had he?

“Well, hello there, prince,” he purred in Aziraphale’s ear.

“I – oh…me?” He hadn’t meant it as anything more than just fanciful words and a bit of fun, hadn’t factored himself into that image at all.

“Who else?”

“But I’m not – I would hardly be – I mean, it’s been you who’s come to,” Aziraphale managed then coloured just a little out of embarrassment at the sheer number of times he would’ve been in trouble had it not been for Crowley, “to my rescue.”

The snake seemed unperturbed; the angel could _feel_ the smile with a hint of smirk hovering half an inch from his face. “Modern times, angel. Who says the pretty young girl can’t rescue the prince?”

“I suppose that’s a rather good point,” Aziraphale conceded. He turned his head to look the other in the eye, his own eyes lit up in a smile. “And you are indeed very pretty.”

Corresponding light colour rose in high cheekbones at the praise. Well, not all that light, really.

“Shut up,” Crowley murmured, his smirk and minute swaggering slipping right off in response, the embarrassment taking its place.

“But you are. Surely, if you’re allowed to compliment me, then it seems terribly unfair that I cannot compliment you anymore.”’

Crowley pulled back a little, his brow creased. “Anymore? What do you mean, ‘anymore’?”

“You allowed me to call you perfect earlier.” A pause, small but somehow pregnant. “And I do hope you weren’t implying with that comment that I have never complimented you before now.”

“What?” Crowley now looked as though Aziraphale had just asked him Beelzebub’s favourite flavour. “No, of – why would I ever imply that? Of course, I’m not!”

“I know I may not have done it as much as I should have – no, I know for certain that I haven’t,” Aziraphale continued, almost as though he hadn’t heard what Crowley had said as he tumbled down into a stream of thoughts, but only almost, “but I will try to make it up to you. And there have been quite a few times during our friendship,” – oh, just to be able to describe the time they’d known each other openly as friendship without fear! – “where I have called you things that were downright nasty, and I can’t even say that I didn’t mean them at the time, but I do sincerely regret them, and I can only – “

He was halted in his speech which had become more of a ramble than anything at that point by a finger on his lips, pressing gently but insistently.

“Of. Course. I’m. Not,” Crowley said, enunciating each word slowly and carefully, looking Aziraphale straight in the eye. “Okay? I wouldn’t, you _know that – _and you don’t need to make it up to me. That’s not how it works. Not even for calling me names and such.”

“But they were horrible, and it was hardly just names.” The blond was speaking past the finger still on his lips, the slight vibrations and the movement of the lips sent a minute shiver through the ginger, who then pulled it away.

“Your point?”

“Crowley, you – you can’t be okay be with – “

“Why not?” he asked, interrupting. “I never expected you not to mean them.”

“_Crowley_…” The green eyes were wide and full of guilt.

Yellow conquered white for a moment before the demon got himself back under control.

Then he gripped soft cheeks in both his hands. “Not like – you utter idiot, I’m not hurt by it. I never was.”

Aziraphale wanted to believe it but couldn’t quite manage it. Besides, there was another point. “You were hurt by ‘fraternising’.”

A minute, but still starkly visible flinch flickered over Crowley’s face. He did not look away, however.

“That was different,” he said after a moment. “That was…that felt like you had a problem with _me, _not with what I was. Am.”

Good grief, Aziraphale was an idiot, wasn’t he?

He closed the distance to kiss, not the lips, not yet, but the nose, gentle and lingering right on the tip. “I never had a problem with _you_, dearest. At the time, when you asked, when I saw that paper, I was just…I was incredibly scared you wanted to leave me. Absolutely terrified, in fact.”

“Wanted to – what do you mean…oh. The holy water.”

“Yes.” The word was just a little bit hitched, a little strangled, which Aziraphale thought he couldn’t be blamed for, at least.

The ginger's face fell. “Oh, angel, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. But if you can put a painful memory behind you like that, then I think I should at least try my best to, as well.”

Crowley opened his mouth, presumably to protest but Aziraphale shook his head and he shut up, frowning as he did so.

The angel couldn’t help but smile a little at that, though there was a wry quality to it. “Given our age, our…former professions and the time we’ve known each other, it’s quite astonishing how much we still sometimes struggle to communicate effectively. Or even at all, once or twice.”

That was probably putting it mildly, but eh, who was counting?

His smile was answered with an identical one from Crowley. “Part of the charm, isn’t it? At this point, at least.”

Aziraphale had an arm wrap around his waist to tug him against a bony side, which he was more than happy to comply with. He leaned his head against a slightly protruding clavicle and slid an arm around a slim waist in turn.

“And we get there in the end,” Crowley finished.

“That we do, my dearest. That we do. Thankfully.”

He felt a nose bury itself in his hair, inhaling and almost snuffling a bit into the slightly longer hair and giggled. Then a soft cheek took its place, rubbing just slightly. There was a gentle, contented hum. Oh,_ lovely_.

“I can see why you’d develop a kink for hair, angel,” the demon mumbled after a while had passed. “This is brilliant.”

“I don’t have a, a _kink_ for hair.”

“Think that’s a bit ‘closing the stable door’, don’t you?”

Aziraphale could actually _hear _the raised eyebrow in the voice. However, he wasn’t going to budge on this.

“I don’t have a fetish for hair,” he repeated, pulling back enough that he could look at the other. “Not in general. I have one for yours. There’s a difference.”

He couldn’t help feeling a slight bit of satisfaction at quoting Crowley’s words back to him, even if the circumstances were different. Happier.

Yellow eyes widened somewhat, and Crowley licked his lips.

“Well…in that light, is there any chance of you granting a small return favour, then?” he asked, his voice just a little bit husky.

“Of course, there is, Crowley. What did you have in mind, exactly?”

Arms wrapped around him. Hands tugged, somewhat meaningfully, on the hem of his clothes.

“Ah, yes,” he said. He remembered. “Of course, you can have that, my dearest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are. I did say it'd be short, didn't I? Well, short for me, anyway.  
If you've seen gingerhaole's little comic of Crowley's hair being braided, yes, I did draw inspiration from that. :) As for the mermaid braid, I just thought that of course Aziraphale would try something like that.  
Thank you again to everyone ❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a relatively short chapter to start off on but I can see this turning into more than 10k words, which is my limit for a one-shot and so I've cut it. I don't think it'll be more than a few chapters, though, but we'll see.  
Apologies to the people who like the hair-bun look, I just...I did not gel with it. If you liked it, more power to you. :)
> 
> Feedback is, so long as the criticism is constructive, always loved and treasured


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